


Cabin Pressure

by cherishedlarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Airplanes, Alternate Universe, Bad Puns, Businessman Harry, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunk Harry, Drunk Louis, Existential Talk, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, First Dates, Flight Attendants, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Lads' Night, M/M, Movie Night, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Photographer Harry, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, They bond over puns, Tropes, Work In Progress, flight attendant Louis, flight attendant niall, the universe is expanding, these tags are all over the place but I will clean them up later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:12:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9369542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherishedlarry/pseuds/cherishedlarry
Summary: Louis can't settle down, Harry can't stop the puns that fall from his lips, and one flight is all it takes to fall in love.





	1. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from "Air Hostess" by Busted.

There is a simple beauty in telephone wires. The sloping lines are so clean, so smooth, so calming. Harry’s eyes follow them around the sleepy city as the taxi he’s riding in speeds along the relatively busy Los Angeles street. 

He’s awake on the cusp of 5 A.M., chilled air rushing through the slightly open window. His hair is styled up in its usual messy bun. Well, ‘usual’ meaning when he’s not at work. It’s longer than the average businessman’s, soft and curly and unruly at best. But Harry’s only 31; still young, relatively speaking. He had succeeded in becoming sales manager at his company back home in London even with his long locks so he supposes it’s alright.

 _Home_. God, Harry is so happy to be heading home. Getting up at 3 in the morning, while not ideal, certainly is doable when his reward will be his _actual cloud_ of a bed. And his shower with the perfect water pressure. And his couch made of soft cream colored cotton. And his windows with the most gorgeous view of London. He misses everything about his place and the thought of returning to it after weeks of constant business meetings and packed schedules and scorching summer days and high-end businessmen who did nothing but look down at Harry is enough to bring a slight tear to his eye. Not that he would ever admit as much.

He closes his eyes, resting his head against the cool glass of the taxi window. He tries not to think about how unsanitary that probably is because he is just so _tired_ and his head feels like it weighs two tons.

He must doze off for a bit because, before he knows it, they’re pulling up outside of LAX. The taxi driver gets out swiftly, heading to the boot to get Harry’s small suitcase. For a man that stayed in L.A. for nearly a month, Harry doesn’t have much stuff with him. But that’s the thing about Harry. He never really understood the concept of ‘stuff’. He doesn’t believe in being weighed down with material things. He has the money to afford plenty of luxuries, sure. But he just doesn’t want that, _never_ wanted that.

He thanks the driver once his suitcase is handed over to him, paying the fare for his ride to the airport while including a generous tip. He receives a friendly nod in return as well as a sincere “Have a safe flight, sir”. He extends the handle of his roller as he swings the strap of his laptop bag over his left shoulder, making his way into the air-conditioned airport.

The airport is still relatively empty since it’s still disgustingly early in the morning, allowing him to pass through check-in and security in record time. It’s quiet; peaceful. He only has his laptop bag now after deciding to check his roller. He always felt weird taking up space in those overhead bins, somehow feeling like he wasn’t worthy of the space or something. People had _important things_ to put up there, right? No? Was Harry just being his paranoid, socially anxious self? Yeah, probably. Whatever. He checks it and that’s just how it’s going to be.

He consults his watch, a shiny new Rolex he had recently treated himself to, and sees he still has two whole hours until his flight. He’s going through possibilities in his mind of what he can do to pass the time when his stomach rumbles, reminding him that he had skipped out on breakfast that morning. And, now that he thinks about it, he could go for a nice coffee as well. He’s hoping to get some sleep on the flight but the caffeine will help keep him alert until then.

He quickly finds a Starbucks and orders his usual drink along with a spinach and feta breakfast wrap. He sets up camp at one of the tables with his purchases, pulling out his laptop to try and get some work down. He needs to finish up the report by midnight and he really doesn’t want to have to worry about it when he gets home, instead wanting to just relax for the first time in a month.

He’s in the shop for quite some time, attention focused solely on his work when he hears a bright laugh echo through the surrounding room. It’s quite a strange sound for such a deserted place, especially so early in the morning. He takes a sip of coffee, pulls his gaze away from the screen, and looks towards the source of the noise.

Two men are walking towards the shop, one with clearly artificial blonde hair and another with sweeping light brown locks. They’re sporting matching uniforms- flight attendants, Harry realizes as they get closer. The blonde one speaks, and it’s too quiet for Harry to make out what’s said, but the brunette laughs the bright sound he heard just seconds before.

Harry puts his coffee back down on the table, tongue clicking a bit as his lips part after he’s swallowed. He continues watching them discreetly as they make their way over to the counter, placing their orders, but soon turns his attention back towards his laptop. Harry isn’t eavesdropping, he’s _not_ , but he soon realizes that the brunette man is British while the blonde man is Irish. After the two have gotten their coffees and sat down at a table not far from Harry, he allows his eyes to secretly travel back over to them.

British Man is talking animatedly about some “hot bloke” that was on his flight last night. Irish Man seems to be quite fed up with his friend, rolling his eyes and scoffing a lot. At one point he says something along the lines of “When are you going to stop flirting with every guy that moves and actually settle down, Louis?” which sends British Man (apparently called Louis) into a rant about how he’s “a fucking flight attendant, Niall, there’s no such thing as settling down when you’re always up in the air”.

Harry tries so hard not to laugh but that pun was just _too good_. So he winds up making a rather unattractive snorting sound which, in turn, causes the two men to snap their heads to look at him. He quickly claps his hand over his nose and mouth and stares at them apologetically, wishing his coffee contained rat poison so he could _drink it all and just die right there_ because _oh God_.

“Did ya like that, mate?” Louis asks, smile bright and easy.

Harry removes his hand from his face, trying to string together an attempt at an apology. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Just- sorry. Again.”

“No, no. Don’t apologize. At least _someone_ around here appreciates my humor.” Louis snaps his head back over to Niall who rolls his eyes again before sipping at his own coffee.

“I’ve been putting up with your humor for four years now, I’m well past the point of appreciating it,” Niall grumbles.

“Yeah. It sounds like you’re quite the flight risk.” Harry smirks in tasteful pride as he takes another sip, eyes exuding confidence as he looks at Louis and Niall.

The two men stare at him, Louis with his cup poised halfway to his mouth and Niall with his fingertips placed awkwardly on his cheek, clearly having been in the middle of satisfying an itch. Harry panics then, thinking maybe he’s overstepped some kind of boundary he _really_ hadn’t been aware of. He begins to think maybe Louis and Niall are the only ones that are allowed to joke about Louis’ commitment issues. He really doesn’t know the guy, after all, no matter how much he wishes he did. He contemplates whether he should just mutter an awkward apology, grab his things, and head to his gate while simultaneously hoping and praying neither man will be on his long flight back to London.

But then a loud shout of laughter breaks through the unbearable tension. It’s high in pitch; unexpected but more than welcome. Harry’s awareness snaps back to the present as his eyes focus on Louis, the source of the noise. His mouth is open wide, peals of laughter falling out of it. His nose is scrunched up as well as his eyes which are bordered by the cutest little crinkles. Harry thinks Louis laughing is the most beautiful sound he’s heard in his 31 years of life. It could bring about world peace. End hunger. Cure cancer.

Honest. Harry is so _not_ exaggerating.

Niall joins soon after, his laugh less musical than Louis’ but still contagious. Harry immediately feels himself relax and start giggling himself and waits patiently while the two of them settle down.

Louis wipes at his eyes as Niall continues to chuckle deeply every few seconds, as if his laughter had been so powerful it had some type of aftershock.

“Mate.” Louis is the first to speak. “Please tell me I can use that line on every guy that asks me where they see our relationship going, or why I’m not ready to settle down, or just _anything_ like that because that is actual _gold_.”

“How the fuck did you not think of that yourself, Lou?” Niall questions, finally serene enough to speak as well as take a sip of his drink.

“I don’t know. For real, I’m so disappointed in myself. At least we had, uh… what’s your name?”

“Harry,” Harry answers Louis’ question with a smile.

“At least we had Harry to supply such _incredible_ puns,” Louis says, winking at Harry. And even if that was just a meaningless gesture, Harry is literally melting. Because Louis is just… just so charming and beautiful and funny and bright and okay Harry needs to chill out.

He’s known him less than an hour and he’s already attached. He’s growing attached to a man who is very blatantly talking about his commitment issues. This kind of discussion, this admission, would usually make Harry tuck his tail and run the other way. The promise of a future is what Harry is looking for, someone he knows wouldn’t leave at the drop of a hat. Louis is none of these things and yet Harry is still just so entranced. Well, he supposes it wouldn’t hurt to at least strike up some sort of friendship or acquaintanceship with the bloke.

So that’s what he does. For the next 45 minutes, the three of them talk, which is made a lot easier once Louis and Niall move over to sit at Harry’s table. Harry asks all about the glamorous life of flight attendants (to which both boys elaborate on with a hint of disdain in their voices) and they, in turn, ask about Harry’s job and his overall importance in the business world. He knows he’s using a lot of terminology that the ordinary person wouldn’t understand, if Niall’s blank expression is anything to go by, but Louis still listens with rapt attention. His eyes literally sparkle as Harry talks about what he does and the adoration Harry already feels for this man should be causing more alarm than it presently is.

When there’s a lull in the conversation, Harry checks his watch absentmindedly only to find that he has about 10 minutes before his flight starts boarding.

“Oh, crap. I’ve gotta catch my flight,” he says, scrambling to get his things together and chugs the last few sips of his coffee which is unpleasantly lukewarm by now.

Louis reaches across the table and grabs Harry’s wrist, turning it to take a look at the face of Harry’s Rolex. “Shit. Me too.”

“Aww man. Now what am I going to do? I still have an hour until I’m off,” Niall says petulantly, frowning and looking between Louis and Harry helplessly.

Louis extends a hand and ruffles Niall’s hair which elicits a groan/whine from the blonde boy. “You’ll manage,” Louis replies stoically. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve left you to your own devices.”

Niall rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything to argue with that statement. He stands up to give Louis and (to his own surprise) Harry a hug goodbye. He seems to whisper something into Louis’ ear which earns the blonde boy a smack on the head and elicits a rather impressive eye roll from Louis.

Louis and Harry then make their way towards the ramp that leads to the start of the terminals and turn to each other in anticipation.

“So where is today’s adventure bringing you? Ibiza? Dubai? Paris? Somewhere else that will make me infinitely jealous of you?” Harry asks as they continue to walk side by side.

Louis heaves a long-suffering sigh and hikes one of his backpack straps up into a more comfortable position on his delicate shoulders. “Man, I wish. But nope. Just heading back home to dreary old England.”

Harry perks up at that. “Flight 170?”

Louis looks over at him with a grin. “Yeah, actually. You too?”

Harry nods. “Mhm. But wait. You mean to tell me we’re heading to the same flight and you didn’t even bother to tell me?” He acts like he’s put out but, really, he’s trying his best not to combust with excitement.

“Sorry. It didn’t come up. You know, _you_ could have said something too. This isn’t entirely my fault,” Louis argues back.

Harry lets out a breath of a laugh. “Fair enough.”

They walk in silence for a while, already quite comfortable in each other’s company. Once again, Harry thinks about how worrying that should be but chooses to ignore it in favor of living in beautiful and Louis-filled bliss.

“So you excited to be heading home?” Harry ventures once they finally have their gate number in sight.

Louis shrugs. “I mean, I haven’t been home in quite some time so it’ll be nice, but still. To be honest, I get quite bored when I’m just on me own. I suppose that’s why Niall always makes comments about me finding someone. But I just haven’t had the best luck with relationships and, all puns aside, my lifestyle doesn’t leave much room for settling down and… wow, sorry, man. I shouldn’t be unloading all of this stuff on you.”

“No, no, no,” Harry quickly responds. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been told I’m quite a good listener.” He punctuates that with an embarrassing and involuntary wink that he hopes and prays goes unnoticed by Louis. He chances a glance and Louis is still looking straight ahead and isn’t showing any sign that he witnessed Harry’s truly awkward action.

“Well, thanks. But anyway, enough about me. What about you? You excited to be going home? You said you’ve been in LA for, what, a month?”

He nods. “Yeah, about that. God, yes, I’m more than ready to head back. I miss my flat, I miss my shower, I miss my _bed_. Fuck, do I miss my bed.” His tone is skirting dangerously close to being a moan and he blushes once he comes to this realization.

He doesn’t know if he’s imagining it but he swears the tops of Louis’ ears are starting to turn a brilliant shade of scarlet.

“Yeah,” Louis clears his throat nervously. “I suppose I miss that too. Not, uh, _your_ bed because… I mean, my own bed. Of course, yeah, my… um… bed.”

And okay, where did this come from? Well, looks like Harry wasn’t imagining the red tint to Louis’ ears after all. Because Louis is _flustered_. He is _embarrassed_. And oh God, he is the cutest person Harry has ever seen.

They arrive at their gate, Harry heading towards the boarding line while Louis heads right to the doorway, getting his pass ready. Before he steps through, he looks back at Harry. And bloody _winks_.

“See you in there,” he says with a cheeky grin before he walks on ahead.

Harry inhales sharply, the sudden intake causing a loud cough to erupt from him. A few of the bystanders turn to look at him in annoyance as he tries his best to muffle it in his fist.

Harry’s one of the first to board, lucky enough to be in first-class. His job certainly has its perks. His legs simply aren’t meant to withstand the small spaces of economy. He steps on board the plane only to be greeted by Louis’ smiling face.

“Welcome aboard, Haz,” he says with a certain type of glint in his eye. And… wow. They are blue. Very, very blue.

“Thank you,” Harry replies cordially while slightly blushing and ducking his head. He makes his way to the second row of seats (a single,  _thank God_ ), setting up shop fairly quickly. He’s done it enough times at this point to actually have a system. He steps out of the aisle and places his bag on his seat to unzip it. He then pulls out his laptop, phone, as well as the book he’s looking forward to finishing on the flight. Once everything is out and in place, he stuffs the nearly empty bag under the seat in front of him and takes his seat, automatically buckling his seat belt.

He sits there and observes. Not the other boarders, as he usually does, but Louis. Louis with his easy demeanor and genuine smile and lilting voice and bright eyes that look like tiny little oceans. He’s good at his job- that much Harry can tell. The job was made for someone like Louis.

Louis continues to look over at Harry when there’s a break in the stream of people coming on board, smile growing just a little bit whenever their eyes meet. Harry’s trying not to overthink anything but not really able to stop himself. Because Louis keeps _looking_ and Harry doesn’t _understand_.

This is going to be a long flight for sure.

\---

The first hour of the trip is uneventful. Well, other than a few lingering glances. But soon it comes time for the complimentary beverages and snacks before the full meal would be served in a few hours. And, of course, Louis is assigned to take care of first class. Because Harry’s life has a funny way of working out.

Harry’s absorbed in his book so he doesn’t notice when the dainty man walks up to him.

“What would you like to drink, sir?” a whimsical voice interrupts him. Harry’s head snaps up, neck cracking from the speed of the movement. Louis’ hip is cocked in the most ridiculous way, head tilted to the side with a smile to match.

Harry swallows nervously and unconsciously attempts to run his head through his hair, remembering belatedly that it’s in a bun, causing his fingers to get caught. Smooth, Harry. Really smooth. He tries to cover it up by taking his hair down from the bun, as if this was his intention all along.

But Louis still notices. Because _of course_ he does. Louis’ lips twitch up ever so slightly.

“Um…” It’s the first word that flows out of his mouth and Harry literally wants to die. Why is he so nervous all of a sudden? “I’ll have a rum and coke please.” He wasn’t planning on ordering alcohol, especially since it’s still so early in the morning, but if he’s going to deal with Louis for another nine hours then he needs to loosen up a little.

Louis narrows his eyes a little, smile turning into a dangerous smirk. “Coming right up, Haz.” And there’s that ridiculous nickname again. Only his best friend from back home, Liam, calls him that. He doesn’t usually like other people using it. But, for some reason, he likes it when Louis says it. Louis taps the top of Harry’s seat twice before sauntering off to the next passenger.

Harry lets out a deep exhale and sinks down a little bit in his seat.

His drink arrives after about five minutes and he downs it in less. And he regrets nothing.

\---

It’s now three hours into the trip and Harry has just finished his fifth rum and coke. He’s pleasantly tipsy and is feeling brave. So he pushes the call button before he realizes what he’s really doing. And pretty soon, there’s Louis standing beside him. He’s looking at him with raised eyebrows. It’s a look that Harry tries to replicate but the alcohol in his bloodstream makes his eyes droop a little.

“Can I help you?” Louis asks with a slight laugh. There’s some hidden meaning in his words, Harry thinks. Or that might be the fifth rum and coke talking. He’s not sure and he’s not going to think too much about it.

“Yes.” He doesn’t realize he needs to explain himself any more than that. His brain tells him that’s enough.

After a long pause which is filled with nothing but loaded silence between the two, Louis continues. “And… what can I help you with?”

Harry looks away, trying to think of why exactly he called him over in the first place. And… oh. He supposes he doesn’t actually need help with anything. He would like another rum and coke, if he’s honest, but that’s probably not the best idea. “Um…” And there’s that word again. “I’m bored.”

Louis laughs, a bright sound that catches the attention of all the passengers in the immediate vicinity. Harry feels a sense of pride at that. Like, yeah that’s right. I made this ray of sunshine laugh.

“Your laptop and book not enough for you?” he asks playfully.

Harry looks down at the two items mentioned in confusion, almost as if he forgot they were there. He hadn’t touched either for the past two hours, enjoying his drinks and watching Louis to pass the time. He pauses for a while as he continues to look at them. “No.”

Louis laughs at the bluntness of his answer to which Harry giggles in harmony with.  “You could watch a movie. We have plenty of them available.”

Harry shakes his head before Louis’ even done with his suggestion. “I don’t want to,” he says, tone mimicking that of a child.

He’s really not sure what he wants other than Louis’ company. He’s not just saying these things to test Louis’ patience. He supposes he’s just trying to find an excuse to talk with the ethereal being standing beside him.

Louis puts a hand on his hip and actually thinks about what to say. He’s actually, seriously, trying to help Harry figure out what to do. He’s so patient with Harry. And patience is not something Harry deserves right about now. He’s very drunk and very bored and Louis is very wonderful.

“You could…” Louis drawls. “You tired? You could take a nap?”

Another stubborn head shake. “Not sleepy.”

“Well then I’ll just have to entertain you,” Louis answers as if it’s the simplest answer in the world.

Harry furrows his eyebrows, lips pouting slightly. “And what exactly does that entail?”

Louis shrugs and motions for Harry to fold his legs up onto the seat. Surprising Harry entirely, Louis then proceeds to sit down on the floor in the space between Harry’s seat and the one in front of his. Harry just stares at him, confused, with the same expression still on his face. Louis leans his back against the side of the plane, legs extended straight out with his dainty ankles crossed, and looks up at Harry in the most innocent manner.

Harry doesn’t understand this man.

“What are you doing down there?” Harry asks with a breathy laugh somewhere in the middle.

Louis blinks once, twice. “I’m getting ready to tell you a story.”

Harry laughs for real then, a loud outburst that seems to startle the surrounding passengers. “You’re not serious.”

Louis’ eyebrows come together, mirroring Harry’s past expression. “I don’t joke about story time, Harold.”

Harry sobers up entirely. This guy is serious. “You’re… working?” He doesn’t expect it to come out sounding so much like a question but alas.

Louis shrugs again, something Harry has started to notice he does quite often. He’s not entirely sure what that says about Louis. “This is precisely why I have coworkers. I think I can afford to spend some time with you.”

“But…” Harry tries to argue. However, in all honesty, he doesn’t really want Louis to do anything besides this. He doesn’t ever want him to leave. He doesn’t ever want him to tend to the other passengers. He feels like he should be frightened by this revelation but he’s surprisingly just… content.

Louis reaches up and puts his hand on Harry’s knee. And… oh. The touch is so light yet so halting. Harry feels warmth immediately spread from the point of contact. He tells himself it’s the fifth rum and coke that’s doing it. But on some other level he knows very well it’s just Louis.

“It’s fine, Harry. Trust me. I want to do this.” His voice and eyes are so sincere, Harry gives up trying to argue any further. “I want to be here.”

“You want to be on the floor?”

“If it means I get to spend time with you, absolutely,” Louis says with a grin.

Harry shakes his head in disbelief, rubbing his sweaty palms along the tops of his thighs. “Alright. Well, what’s this story you so desperately want to tell me?”

Louis giggles. Actually giggles. And Harry literally wants to die. “I’ve got a couple I could go in to.”

“Why can’t you settle down?” Harry blurts out, immediately regretting the question as well as his entire existence simultaneously.

He expects Louis to just get up and walk away. To balk at him in surprise. To get angry. To do something that matches the rudeness of his question. But there’s just… nothing. There’s no indication that Louis is either surprised or offended by Harry’s inquiry. Instead, he simply just seems amused and willing.

“Mainly it’s my job. I’m just never in the same place long enough to really commit to anything. Not many people understand the lifestyle.”

“Have you ever thought of doing something else?” Harry asks.

“I’ve thought about it. Even tried a couple of things. But nothing’s ever stuck the way being a flight attendant has. I love it,” Louis says.

“What have you tried?”

“Oh God, a bunch of different things. I’ve been a bartender, I’ve been a football coach, I’ve been a dog trainer, I’ve done it all. But I just… I don’t know. I just love the lifestyle of flight attendants. Always travelling, always getting to be around people, always experiencing different cultures. Everything about it is just perfect for me.” He pauses for a minute before continuing. “What about you? You travel a lot?”

Harry nods. “A lot, yeah. I’m in LA at least half the year and then travel to places like Paris or Stockholm throughout the rest of the year. But I definitely prefer England, for sure.”

“Yeah I tend to be in LA a lot of the time too. Never been to Stockholm though.”

“I love it there. I hope to get a place there someday,” Harry replies.

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Oh, you should totally do that. Do you have a place in LA?”

Harry shakes his head. “No. Not yet, anyway. I hope to be able to get one soon though. I just started travelling there frequently a few years ago and I’ve been saving up to get a nice place since. I’m almost there.”

“You said you’re a sales manager?” Louis asks.

“Mhm,” Harry replies with a single nod.

“You like it?”

Harry shrugs. “Yeah. I guess.”

“You guess? Doesn’t sound very convincing.”

“I mean…” Harry pauses, unsure of how to answer. “It’s good money and…”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Louis says, surprising Harry into silence. Louis puts his hand in the air, almost as if he wanted to touch Harry’s knee again but stops himself. “That should never be your first response when someone asks if you like your job. Especially after first saying ‘I guess’.”

Louis’ got a point. A really good point, in fact. Harry wishes he had a good response to that. But he doesn’t. And now Louis’ got him spiraling into some sort of existential crisis and he’s not sure what to do about that.

“I… well… I…” Harry stammers.

“I’m sure you like your job, Haz. And I don’t want you to suddenly quit and leave yourself helpless with no idea what you want to do in life. I guess all I’m saying is just make sure there’s still some love there, ya know? Don’t lose yourself in your job.”

Harry is shocked by Louis’ eloquence. He never would have expected to get any type of life lesson from a flight attendant. And yet here he is. He’s also very persuasive and Harry can’t help but start to imagine what it would be like to just get up and leave. Sell his place in London and move to LA permanently. Or even buy that place in Stockholm he’s always wanted. But he knows he would never nor could he ever push himself to do just that. And that frustrates him. He wants to be one of those people that has the ability to sell all his belongings to travel the world. He wants to be able to follow his dreams and pursue his passions. But he’s a realist, not a dreamer. So he’s stuck in the middle.

“Harry, you with me?” Louis’ voice as well as his hand being placed on to his leg interrupts his train of thought.

Harry shakes his head as a way to orient himself. “Yeah, sorry,” he replies. “Was just thinking.”

“What are you passionate about, Harry?” Louis suddenly asks with no preamble.

Harry looks down at him and smiles. “Photography.” The answer is instinctual, instantaneous and proud.

Louis can tell by the way his voice lilts easily, can tell by the way the word comes out almost unconsciously, that Harry’s got a raw passion for the thing. He nods, accepting. “Do you still actively do it?”

Harry shrugs. “Not as much as I used to. I haven’t really had the time.”

“Well that’s bullshit,” Louis blurts out.

Harry isn’t as stunned as he would have been a few hours ago by Louis’ bluntness. It’s something he honestly kind of expects (and hopes for) at this point. “Why is that bullshit?”

Louis stares at him, eyes unwavering and fierce. “You don’t need time to take pictures. Photography doesn’t have to include some elaborate setup nor does it require any pre-planning. You just do it. Take a picture of the pattern on your hotel room curtains. Or take a picture of an empty coffee mug left after one of your fancy ass business meetings. Take a picture of anything and everything. See a flower you like? _Click_. See a handsome stranger? _Click_. See a pretty bird? _Click_. You just have to do it. No more excuses.”

“Okay,” Harry replies as soon as there’s a break in Louis’ speech. It’s such an effortless answer because _God_ is Louis persuasive.

“Yeah?” Louis questions brightly. That was clearly the answer he was hoping for and Harry longs to continue to make him this happy for the rest of his life. And, once again, he thinks he should be terrified at this revelation but he’s not. Not even close.

He _wants_ to start taking pictures again and he _wants_ to finally buy that place in LA and he _wants_ Louis in his life, in whatever capacity the other man desires. As Louis said, Harry needs to pursue his passions and Louis just happens to be one of Harry’s passions. And that’s definitely not the alcohol talking. This is wholeheartedly, one hundred percent pure Harry. And he’s not scared.

“Yeah. I’m gonna get back into it. Yeah, for sure.”

Louis beams even brighter then. “I would love to see some of your work. Do you have any on your laptop or phone or anything?” He’s so genuinely interested, it makes Harry feel so much lighter.

Fuck, he wishes he could say yes just to keep Louis’ happiness around him a little bit longer.

“I don’t have anything on me, no. I do have a bunch of prints back at my place though.” He’s not sure what exactly he’s even asking for or implying but Louis’ eventual response may just be what he’s wanted all along.

“Well then… I’ll just have to come over to see them sometime.” The sheer amount of unwavering confidence in this tiny man is astounding.

“Well then… I guess you will.”

“Can I be honest with you?” Louis asks after an easy lull appears in the conversation.

“I have a feeling you would be even if I said no,” Harry says on a laugh.

Louis points a finger at him. “Now _that_ is true.”

“But, yeah, you can tell me anything,” Harry coaxes in order to get Louis to continue.

“I suppose I’ve been looking for any excuse to see you again after today,” Louis admits.

Harry feels himself grinning and is unable to meet Louis’ eyes. “I suppose you’ve found it.” He pauses. “I guess I’ve been looking for an excuse too, in all honesty.”

Louis looks like he’s about to say something in response but a sudden _ding_ interrupts the little moment they were having. It’s one of the other first class passengers calling for Louis’ assistance. Harry hates that first class passenger.

“That’s my cue,” Louis says with something that sounds like reluctance in his voice. “I’ll be back.”

Louis uses Harry’s seat to push himself up off the ground, knees cracking as he stands. With one final smile and meaningful look in Harry’s direction, Louis’ off. Harry watches him go and definitely _does not_ take the time to appreciate the way his ass looks in those tight pants.

He means to pick up his book and continue reading. He means to keep himself occupied until Louis returns from doing his job. But then the alcohol catches up to him and he’s asleep before he even realizes what’s happening.

\---

He wakes up groggy and disoriented awhile later, unsure of how much time has actually passed. The moment he opens his eyes happens to coincide with the same moment that Louis walks by. Louis stops in his tracks when he looks over and notices Harry’s in the process of waking up. Harry straightens out his neck from the awkward angle it had fallen into at some point during his nap of unknown duration.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Louis greets, stopping beside him and cocking his hip to the side in the now-familiar pose. “Good sleep?”

Harry nods and closes his eyes once again, giving a content sigh while he proceeds to stretch out his stiff muscles.

Louis lets out a breathy laugh. “I could tell. You know you snore?”

Harry immediately blushes and runs his fingers through his hair, partly because it’s simply a nervous habit and partly because he can only imagine how messy his hair is after his nap. “I’ve been told,” he responds with an embarrassed chuckle. “Was it bad?”

Louis shakes his head. “Nah. It was kind of cute actually,” he says as he suddenly reaches out a hand and runs his fingers through Harry’s still messy hair. Louis’ eyes widen as he’s halfway through the motion, seeming to surprise himself with the action. Harry’s eyes move from Louis’ hand to his eyes, locking green with blue, and smiles slightly.

“S-sorry,” Louis stammers. “I…” he pauses before removing his hand as fast as he had reached it out in the first place. “I don’t know why I did that.” And Louis actually looks e _mbarrassed_ which is not something Harry thought was really possible.

Harry hates it.

He doesn’t want Louis to ever feel embarrassed, never wants him to feel any type of negative emotion. Louis is sunlight and oversized sweaters and freshly baked cookies and warm mittens and movie marathons on rainy days and everything else beautiful and cozy in the world.

“It’s okay, Lou.” The nickname falls from Harry’s lip of its own accord. Louis smiles at that. Good. Back to positive emotions. “It’s more than okay, actually,” he says slowly.

“Well, I have to go get another round of drinks for some people but if you need me to randomly run my fingers through your hair again, you know where to find me,” Louis says, confidence returning, raising his eyebrows in what seems like both a challenge as well as an invitation.

Harry watches him walk away, _definitely not_ taking note of the way his bum jiggles ever so slightly with each step.

\---

The rest of the flight is kind of uneventful, unfortunately. Louis and Harry have chats here and there but, most of the time, Louis’ stuck responding to needy passengers. Bastards. Not that Harry isn’t one of the needy ones, but still. He has a slightly more important excuse to call over the cute flight attendant than “I need more peanuts.”

They land with a thud, Harry admiring the beauty of the land he’s finally back on. Home. He’s finally home. He could cry. It’s been so long.

He grabs his bag where it still lays underneath the seat in front of him. As he’s putting everything back inside of it, he notices a piece of paper sticking out from the middle of his book. He quickly opens it and sees a number. A phone number, to be more precise, along with a note that says, “What are you passionate about, Harry?” followed by a smiley face with X’s for eyes.

Harry beams then and quickly stuffs everything into the bag before making his way towards the now open plane door where he sees Louis standing, saying goodbye to each passenger with a small smile.

His eyes meet Louis’ and he smiles. “Thank you for the wonderful service today, sir,” he says with a tiny giggle.

Louis’ looks at him completely endeared. “You’re very welcome, kind sir. Keep me posted on how that photography’s coming, yeah?”

Harry knows what he really means. He wants to come over to see it. And Harry wants him to come see it.

“You free tonight?” he asks, surprising himself with his bluntness.

Louis smirks. “As a matter of fact, I am. Wait for me at baggage claim?”

Harry bites his bottom lip to keep himself from beaming. And that’s answer enough.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh hiiii. Sorry it took me so long. I kind of had to finish college and all that. But. Here it is.

Harry’s playing Candy Crush when Louis finds him at baggage claim. He walks up behind him, craning his neck to look at the guy’s phone which displays the offending game. Louis didn’t even realize people still played it, to be quite honest. And, also to be quite honest, he’s not surprised that _Harry_ is one of these few people that does still play it. He’s only known the guy for about half a day and he already feels like he knows him, deeply and truly.

And why is he not scared? That’s a question for another time, he decides. Now it’s time to make fun of Harry for playing Candy Crush. Yes, that sounds like a grand idea.

“Did that flight take us back to 2014?” Louis speaks up. The man is clearly startled by Louis’ sudden presence if the hitch of his shoulders is anything to go by. Harry turns around in his seat to face Louis, a furrowed eyebrow and slight pout coloring his face. Cute, Louis thinks. This grown man is so fucking cute.

“Heyyyy,” Harry drawls. “There’s nothing wrong with Candy Crush.”

Louis shrugs and makes his way around to stand in front of Harry. “It was lame even back in the day. Stop lying to yourself, Haz,” Louis says as he reaches out a hand and lightly bops Harry’s hair which is back in the familiar bun. Holy shit, things about Harry are already becoming  _ familiar _ .

Again, he asks,  _ why is he not scared _ ? Another time, Louis, another time.

Harry’s eyebrows are furrowed.  _ Cute _ , Louis thinks. He stands up then, towering a few inches above Louis’ small frame. He’s not short, okay, he’s just… petite. He hits the power button on his phone, effectively pausing his game and smiling at Louis.

“Ready to go?” Harry asks.

Louis gives a curt nod in agreement. “Absolutely. Lead the way.”

Harry gives him a small smile before the two men make their way towards the exit. England is colder than Louis remembers. He has a light jacket on but the air is biting, sending instant goosebumps frolicking over his skin as soon as they step outside.

“Where are you parked?” Harry asks as they continue to make their way towards the long-term lot.

Louis pauses. “Oh… I, uh… I don’t have a car. I… I usually just get a taxi so I don’t have to spend the money to keep my car here.”

Harry bites his lip to hide his victorious grin. “Oh, well that’s perfect then. You can just ride with me. I’ve got plenty of room. And carpooling  _ is  _ good for the environment. Go green, and all that.”

Louis doesn’t understand who this Harry kid is and why he’s so enamored by him.

“You sure you don’t mind? Sorry, I should have told you. I just… wasn’t thinking, I guess.” Louis feels embarrassed to the point where he can feel the blush starting to heat up his cheeks. Harry’s just  _ doing  _ things to him. Louis rarely ever feels embarrassed and he doesn’t know why this virtual stranger is bringing about emotions such as that one. One that he _hates_ , really. Another time, Louis, another time.

“Of course I don’t mind. C’mon. My car’s just over here.” Harry tips his head a bit to the side to indicate the direction they need to walk in. Their roller bags echo and grate throughout the entire garage, a harsh sound for such a quiet moment.

They arrive at Harry’s car within the next minute, a gorgeously sleek black Range Rover. Because  _ of course  _ Harry drives one of these. Louis should have known. Harry pops open the trunk, loading his bags in while Louis watches. Helpful, he is. Once his bags are in, he turns around to face Louis with extended arms.

“I’ll put your bags in. Car’s unlocked if you wanna climb in.” Louis hands his two bags over and thanks him with a sweet smile.

Louis digs his phone out of his pocket before he walks to the left of the car and settles into the passenger seat. He opens up his text messages to Niall, filling him in (very briefly) on the events that have unfolded within the past few hours with pun boy. He knows Niall is still currently en route to Copenhagen so it will be awhile until he sees the messages. And God only knows what else will happen between then and now.

While Harry is still loading everything into the car, arranging it all in a way that will prevent the bags from rattling around for the entire journey, Louis lets out a deep breath and tries to process what’s happening right now. He’s in a car, a  _ nice  _ car he will admit, with a guy he met on a flight. He’s trusting him with his bags and with his life. Although they had some good chats during the flight, Louis really doesn’t know him too well. 

Let's go over the basics, shall we? Harry enjoys puns, eavesdropping is apparently a pastime of his, he's into photography, he drives a nice car, he travels quite frequently for work, he wants to own a place in Stockholm someday, he's a sales manager, he snores, and... that's it really. Basically, he doesn't know a fucking thing about this Harry guy or where he's come from.  Yet here he sits, contemplating whether he should just jump ship now. A sudden wave of unease washes over him. What if Harry is some crazed maniac that’s taking Louis back to his apartment to chop his body up into little bits before making it all into some sort of stew? And, worse still, what if Harry is… expecting something? Something like sex.

Before Louis’ mind could get too out of control, Harry’s climbing into the driver’s side and pushing his key into the ignition, the engine starting with a low rumble and vibration. Louis turns his head to face him and gives him what he hopes is a warm smile. He hopes the fear he’s feeling isn’t written all over his face. Harry doesn’t look alarmed or anything, just endeared, so Louis takes that as a good sign. A sign that he’s convincing enough.

“Ready?” Harry asks, voice warm and full in the small space.

Louis nods. “Lead the way, my good sir.”

Harry cracks another smile at that before backing out of the parking space and starting to drive away.

“How far away do you live from here?” Louis asks before they’ve even left the garage, already anxious to get out. He doesn’t know what these feelings are exactly. He’s kind of scared but also comforted by Harry’s presence at the same time. He’s kind of apprehensive but also excited to be heading to Harry’s place.

“Uhh…” Harry drawls, eyebrows scrunching in the already familiar motion as he tries to do the math in his head. “Give or take about an hour, what with traffic and all.”

Alright, an hour. Louis can do this.

They sit in silence for the first ten minutes, Harry clearly concentrating on the road while Louis concentrates on his racing heart and sweaty palms. Okay, maybe he  _can't_ do this.

“This is weird, innit,” Louis more states than questions, looking over at Harry to try and gauge his reaction. He notices a minute frown play across Harry’s features.

And… alright.

“It is a bit, isn’t it?” Harry laughs. “I mean, we don’t really know each other. And not only am I in a car with you but I’m also bringing you to my apartment. Like, proper showing you where I live. You could be some cannibal/ax maniac or something and yet here I am just inviting you into my home.”

Louis lets out his first comfortable-sounding and feeling laugh since they started the journey. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrow. “'M not that scary, am I? Because, like, if I made you feel uncomfortable or this is too weird for you I can just bring you home and-”

Louis cuts him off. “Harry, seriously, it’s fine.  _ I’m  _ fine. I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I was  _ actually  _ scared.” He laughs, a sound which Harry returns.

“Okay. As long as you’re sure. I didn’t really think this whole thing through. It was just… never mind,” Harry stammers.

Louis shakes his head. “Oh no. You’re not getting off that easy. Finish that sentence.” Louis isn’t about to put up with Harry’s half-finished sentences bullshit. He strikes Louis as the type to do that quite frequently. Stuff like that doesn’t fly with Louis. And, oh God, there’s another flight attendant pun Louis will certainly be saving for later. It’s a pun he knows Harry will appreciate.

Harry lets out a sigh, amused yet defeated. “I don’t know. I don’t want to make this weird between us or anything…”

“It’s only weird if we choose to make it weird, Haz. Just say it.”

“I feel… connected to you? I guess? I don’t really know how to explain it. Like, there was never a moment I was unsure about you or hesitant. You’re just… comfortable,” Harry says, looking over briefly at Louis to see the boy staring at him with unblinking eyes and a slightly slackened jaw.

When Louis continues to not speak, simply staring at the man, Harry continues with reddened cheeks, “And now I’ve just made it weird. I’m sorry. I wish I could, like, articulate it better. That whole thing was just… weird.”

His voice grows quieter as he continues, clearly ashamed. Which  _ no _ . Before Harry can retreat too far from Louis, he speaks up. “Harry, no. Seriously, it’s not weird at all. I guess I felt the same way. Like a… I don’t know. Some kind of magnet?”

Harry glances over at him quickly with his small smile back on his lips. “Yeah. Like magnets.”

Louis, without really thinking, reaches out a hand and wraps his fingers around Harry’s surprisingly delicate wrist. Harry comes upon a red light, the car rolling to a gradual stop. His eyes move slowly from Louis’ hand wrapped around him to the man’s eyes. Blue, blue, blue. Harry really does adore everything about this near-stranger.

Harry’s about to say something, Louis thinks, but a blaring horn from behind them stops whatever words were about to fall from his lips. Louis pulls his hand back in a quick motion as if he touched a hot iron.

And Louis’ skin already misses Harry’s.

Another time, Louis, another time.

\---

Nothing more is said on the subject of magnets for the rest of the journey.

Instead, the strangers focus their efforts on becoming non-strangers.

Louis tells Harry about his sisters and brother, about his incredible step-dad and not so nice birth-dad. He touches very briefly on the loss of the most beautiful woman he had ever known, his mother, who had lost her battle with leukemia at the end of 2016. Harry gives his deepest sympathies and definitely tears up as Louis tells of happy memories with her. Louis doesn’t want him to cry but he understands the overwhelming feelings the death of his mom can bring about in anybody, given the way he talks about her.

“She was my best friend, you know? My constant. She was the only one that had been there my whole life. And when she passed, I kind of… lost myself for a while. That’s why I tried all those different jobs, you know? I was trying to figure myself out, I suppose,” Louis says. And even though it’s been years since his mom passed, the lump in his throat is still there when he speaks about her.

“And then you became a flight attendant,” Harry says, throat sounding equally as full of lumps as Louis’, if not more so. Louis shouldn’t feel endeared at that but he  _ does _ .

Shit.

“Yeah. It was my escape, literally and figuratively. I got to be around people which was what I needed and I was able to see all these beautiful places I never would have ever dreamed of travelling to. I think that job helped me kind of get over the worst of the grief, you know? Somehow.”

“How long after your mom passed did you become a flight attendant?” Harry asks.

“Oh God, probably about…” Louis pauses to do the math in his head, mouthing the numbers silently. “Two years?”

“Wow,” Harry lets out the word on a breath. “So you’ve been doing this for seven years? How have you not gotten sick of planes yet?”

Harry’s trying to lighten the mood, Louis can tell, and he really adores him for that. “I love it too much to get sick of it.” Louis smiles then, feeling the lump in his throat slowly starting to disintegrate. “Alright, enough about me. Your go.”

Harry clears his throat, trying to get rid of the last of the emotion as best he can before he starts speaking. “Well, my story isn’t as heart-wrenching as yours. Pretty typical family, really. I’ve got my mom Anne, sister Gemma, and stepdad Robin.”

“What about your birth dad?” Louis questions.

Harry shrugs. “He fucked off when I was about ten. I still talk to him occasionally but I’m much closer to Robin than I am to him.” Louis’ glad Harry doesn’t seem sad about the reality of the situation. Louis wants Harry to never feel sad. He was made to be happy.

“So, you’ve already told me about your business and that whole thing. What about your photography? How’d you get into that?” Louis is completely twisted in the passenger seat so he’s facing Harry, seatbelt digging uncomfortably into his hip but he couldn’t care less, really. So long as he gets to watch Harry as he talks. Namely, as he talks about something he’s passionate about.

Louis watches as a smile slowly moves its way back across Harry’s features. And Louis feels bad that his story about his mom had taken it away in the first place.

“I took a, um, photography class during high school? We got to use these big fancy cameras and I just… ran with it. I got A’s on all the assignments and the teacher let me take the camera off campus a few times. And I just haven’t put it down since.” If Louis hadn’t outright asked what Harry was passionate about, he definitely would have been able to tell it was photography just from the way Harry was talking

“What would you say is your favorite picture that you’ve ever taken?” Louis asks.

Harry’s mouth twists to the side, contemplating. And then he beams. “I have this one of my sister. I have it hanging in my hallway at home so I’ll definitely show it to you. And… that’s all I’m gonna say on it ‘cause I don’t want to ruin it.”

Louis lets out an overdramatic sigh, Harry letting out a breathy laugh in response. “I don’t do well with waiting, Harry,” he practically whines.

“I can see that,” Harry smirks. “But I’m still making you wait.”

Louis groans and throws his head back against the seat, maneuvering his body so he’s back in a normal sitting position. “I don’t like you.”

“I can tell by the way you happily agreed to come over to my place after knowing me for only a few hours,” Harry responds.

And oh no. No, no, no. Louis doesn’t want to talk about this yet. He doesn’t want to talk any more about his immediate pull towards Harry. Magnets, magnets, magnets.

_ Another time, Louis, another fucking time. _

\---

Harry pulls into a small parking garage soon after the two of them had fallen into an easy silence, the hum of the engine and the rumble of tires against pavement lulling Louis into a partial sleep. He has grown fairly accustomed to dealing with constant time changes over the years but sometimes they catch up with him, especially whenever he returns home. 

His eyes open once the car rolls over the speed bump at the beginning of the garage and he looks around at his surroundings quickly before turning his face to Harry, noticing a small smile on his face. 

“You glad to be home?” he asks before he lets out a quiet yawn, stretching his arms out in front of him, bones cracking. 

Harry nods, smile growing larger, as he reaches into the middle console, taking out his parking pass and hanging it on his rearview mirror. “Definitely. But I think I’m more excited that you’re here.” He pauses, as if shocking himself with the forwardness of his words. “Uh, ya know, so I can show you my pictures.” 

Louis squints in playful suspicion as Harry finally pulls into a parking space, turning off the engine and looking over at Louis through a sideways glance, blush present on his cheeks. 

The two men climb out of the car, shutting their doors in sync, the slams echoing around the nearly empty garage. After getting their bags out of the trunk, Louis follows Harry to a nearby elevator and they take it up to the main entrance of the apartment building. 

“Hi, Brian. How are you today?” Harry greets the doorman as they enter and Louis hides a fond smile. Because _of course_ Harry says hello to doormen (by name, mind you) in apartment buildings. 

“Hello, Mr. Styles. I’m well, how are you?” Brian responds in quite a posh accent. He can’t be much older than Louis, probably in his upper 30’s.

“I’m doing well, thanks. Oh, Brian, this is Louis. You’ll probably be seeing him quite a bit around here.” Louis tries not to freeze at that, instead choosing to occupy himself with hitching his bag higher up on his shoulder so it’s not digging into his collarbone as much. 

“Hello, Louis. Pleasure to meet you,” Brian greets, sticking out a hand which Louis gladly takes. 

“You as well.” Louis manages to say even with his heart pounding loudly in his chest and his mind running a mile a minute. He tries not to think too much about the way Harry introduced him because, really, he isn’t the kind of person who normally over-analyzes everything. 

But.

Harry hadn’t put a label to Louis. He hadn’t said “my  _ friend  _ Louis” or even “this guy I met on the plane home today”. And he had said he would “probably be seeing him quite a bit around here”. 

Louis finds himself in a state that has no name but can only be described as ???!!!

He wants to ask about it. He wants to bring it up. But, once again, he knows there will be a better time for it. Hopefully today but he knows he’s not meant to think too hard about it at the moment. 

\---

Harry’s apartment is one of only two on the floor he takes them to, floor seventeen. The building itself is huge, a total of forty floors, but if there are only a few apartments on each floor, that would explain why the parking garage isn’t as large as Louis would have imagined. 

When Harry opens the door, Louis very nearly faints. The apartment is absolutely gorgeous. From his spot at the front door, Louis can only take in a part of the kitchen and part of the living room but, from the little that he can see, Louis knows Harry’s decorating style is impeccable. His kitchen is made up of stainless steel appliances, granite countertops, and pops of turquoise every so often, such as the hand towels, the wall decorations, the fake flowers on the kitchen table, and the bar stools around the counter. 

“Here, let me take your bags,” Harry says, breaking Louis out of his gobsmacked stupor. There’s a small laugh hidden somewhere in his words so he can surely tell Louis’ about to collapse.

Louis’ hold on his belongings loosens as Harry takes them from his dangling hands. Louis takes the opportunity then to walk further into the kitchen, sliding his hand across chilled countertops. He glances up and takes in the gorgeous chandelier that dangles above him. Harry walks into the living room, putting Louis’ bags into a corner before walking back to join the marvelling boy. 

“So… you like… my kitchen?” Harry asks, causing Louis to finally turn to face him.

“Honestly, what the fuck,” Louis says, eloquent as ever. 

Harry breathes a laugh. “Thank you,” he drawls, cheeky and unsure.

Louis starts to look around again, starts to get lost in his admiration again, but Harry stops him before it’s too late- before he starts rubbing hand towels on his face or dry humping the bar stools. “Would you like to see the rest of the place?”

Louis looks back at him with a sheepish closed-lipped smile. “Of course.”

Harry leads them into the living room next, gesturing grandly since he knows Louis’ about to do the same thing all over again. Not that he minds watching the sparkle in Louis’ eyes or staring at him in profile or wishing he could subtly take a picture of him right now so he could have this memory on the wall forever, right up along with the rest of his favorite moments in time. 

Louis takes in the dark furniture, the dark leather of the couches and chairs, the sleek dark mahogany that makes up the television stand, the coffee table, the dark stands of the lamps that are topped off by cream-colored shades. Everything is dark and yet refrains from being gloomy. Because, like the kitchen, there are pops of color. The presumably fake plants that sit in corners and on table tops, the abstract paintings, and, of course, the photographs that Louis can only assume are Harry’s own. 

He walks closer to the wall to get a better look at the pictures, taking them all in one by one. This room seems to have a central theme of nature, Louis realizes, when he takes in the images of sunsets and mountains and ocean waves and all sorts of beautiful scenery that makes Louis feel like he’s being transported around the world just from looking at them.

“We’ll come back to this room so don’t feel like you have to absorb every nook and cranny and dust bunny right now,” Harry suddenly says. 

Louis snaps out of his admiration and turns to look at him. “This cannot be rushed, Harry,” he says with a smirk, turning back to look at the last of the photographs that hang proudly in this room.

“Those aren’t my best works, Louis. I want to show you the ones in the hall,” he replies. And Louis can feel Harry take a few steps closer to him, breath hot against the back of his neck, causing the hairs on his body to stand up straight as if they’ve been shocked to life. 

Louis turns around fully then, not surprised to find Harry standing directly behind him. He’s so close. And Louis is about to implode. 

His body is loving this; it really is.

“O-ok,” Louis stammers eloquently. He clears his throat to try and reinvigorate some of the confidence he’s managed to lose in the span of a few seconds. “Lead the way,” he says in a more solid voice, back to the person he was when he arrived at the apartment. Thankfully.

And Harry does something next that shocks Louis back to a crumbling and stammering mess. He reaches out a ringed hand and lightly takes Louis by the arm, fingers wrapping around his goosebump-riddled skin just below the crook of his elbow. Louis doesn’t need to be led anywhere. He’s perfectly capable of following his new companion to a hallway, thank you very much. But, despite the way Louis has always led his life up to this point, he doesn’t feel the need or desire to tell Harry that. 

_ Hold on to me for as long as you wish _ , Louis finds himself thinking. And fuck. Fuck him sideways, really. 

Harry holds on to him the entire journey to the hallway which isn’t more than a ten second walk. Louis is met then with a long corridor, sporadic doors decorating the sides and one more intricate door sitting at the very end of the surprisingly long hallway. Harry lets go then (damn it) and flicks on a nearby switch, illuminating the space before them and bathing the dark red paint of the walls in a golden glow. 

Louis instantly sees the pictures, of course, and doesn’t know how he’s possibly going to take them all in at once. There are dozens, Louis realizes. Small and large, individual and collages filling gorgeous frames, high and low. The display alone has got Louis feeling all sorts of funny things. 

“Am I allowed to take my time in this section?” Louis asks, really only half-kidding. He’s not one to be rushed. He thinks Harry’s already begun to figure that out.

Harry lets out a laugh. “Of course. I’m gonna go make some tea. Would you like some?” 

“Yorkshire?” Louis asks.

“Of course,” Harry replies.

“I’ll take a cup, sure. With just a spot of milk,” he says, tone far off and dreamy even though he hasn’t even really begun to study the pictures yet. 

“You got it.” Harry’s reply falls on deaf ears though as Louis has already begun to get lost in the first picture in the long line of memories that litter his hall. The first one is one of his personal favorites, Harry realizes with a smile, and he’s instantly glad that Louis is starting with that one. It’s one of the ones he took back in high school. It’s a black and white image of his mom, hidden in shadow as she reads a book in the dim light of evening. His mom had always been the most photogenic out of everyone in his family and he’s probably taken more pictures of her than of anyone he knows. 

But he begins to think about the possibility of someone else taking over that crown. Maybe a particular blue-eyed flight attendant that already has Harry wrapped around his petite finger. 

And that’s when he gets an idea.

He scurries back into the living room, looting around in his bag until he finds the thing he’s looking for, placing the strap gracefully around his neck. He goes into the kitchen then and sets the kettle up before tiptoeing back over to where Louis is still only on picture number one. This is going to be awhile.

He gets himself behind Louis, squatting down a bit so he’s about waist-level to the man. He pulls the camera up to his face, playing around with the exposure and various settings until he’s got the overall feeling he’s going for. He turns the flash off before he finally takes the picture, the shutter making a quiet click. And, even if Louis’ heard it, he’s not showing any signs of recognition or unease. Which is always a good sign for when Harry finds a new muse to play around with. 

He gets a couple more shots in at different angles and with different settings as Louis makes his way slowly down the hallway of shots including a particularly beautiful one of Louis' fingers placed delicately on the wall underneath the picture he had clearly become enamored with. Harry's photo shoot is interrupted when the kettle starts to let out the familiar high-pitched whistle from the kitchen. Harry quietly groans as he stands up because he’s getting so many good shots of the man but he knows he needs to tend to the annoying sound and get their tea ready. 

He sets about getting two cups out of the cupboard once he takes the kettle off the burner and places a bag of Yorkshire in each to steep. Taking the milk out and placing it on the counter, Harry peeks around the corner where he can just barely see Louis in the hallway, moving picture to picture with the utmost attention to each. 

And, just... yes. This is what Harry wanted. This is what Harry has been wanting for years. Someone who takes in his work for what it is and appreciates what he does. It’s one thing for your family and friends to say they like what you do but it’s another to have someone that doesn’t have to like anything of yours feel the same way. It’s a beautiful feeling, really. And Harry is just really, really happy. 

When the cups of tea are finally ready for consumption, he makes his way back into the living room and places them on the coffee table. He takes his own into his hands, letting the warmth of the contents seep into his palms as he waits patiently for Louis to be done. 

Or, not be done, really, but for him to reach the quintessential favorite at the end of the hall, right next to his bedroom door. 

And it becomes apparent when he does. He hears an audible gasp, small yet loud enough to be heard like a whisper, and then a quiet exclamation of, “Oh my god.” Harry can’t help but smile in self-assurance before placing his mug next to Louis’ untouched one and making his way to where Louis is surely frozen in place in his hallway.

When Louis comes into view, Harry takes him in. He’s standing in front of the picture, hands raised up to his face, delicately covering his slackened jaw and mouth. Harry moves closer then and stands directly behind him. And just because he’ll take any excuse to look at the picture again, he does just that as Louis tries to absorb every inch of it. 

Gemma, facing away from the camera, is standing on a pathway of rocks that meld into a navy blue body of water. It’s dusk, the sky a mixture of pinks and reds and purples and deep blues. She has on a white dress, lacy and flowy, the bottom of it blowing off to the left in the summer breeze that Harry can still feel on his skin. Her hair, a pale blonde, is blowing along with her dress, strands of it askew but in a way that doesn’t look messy. It looks refreshing, Harry thinks. Her arms fall delicately, naturally, to her sides, loosely pressed against her body. The contrast of his sister’s brightness against the fading light of day was made even more apparent by Harry in the photo editing session. And he had always been happy with the way it had turned out.

And clearly Louis is too because he hasn’t moved or said anything in about two minutes. 

Harry, already close behind him, reaches out his hands and places them on Louis’ shoulders. Louis flinches slightly under Harry’s touch, clearly unaware that he had company, and turns his head slightly to briefly lock eyes with Harry. 

“Harry… this is… gorgeous. I wish there was a better word but… you…  you’re so talented.” He turns around fully then, Harry’s hand falling off the boy’s delicate shoulders  and makes full eye contact with Harry. 

Harry blushes, always terrible at taking genuine compliments. Because he can tell that Louis means it with every ounce of care that he has. And he really doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Thank you. Really, that means a lot.” 

“Do you believe me?” Louis’ eyes are bright and his gaze is unrelenting.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you believe me when I say you’re talented?”

“I-” Harry’s not quite sure how to respond to such an uncomfortable question. “Yeah. I… yeah. I do. Thanks?” He doesn’t mean to end on a question but his voice lilts up anyway. 

Louis purses his lips to the side and stares at him in silence for a few seconds, as if deciding on the truthfulness of Harry’s statement. Harry kind of hates it but kind of loves it. Then, Louis’ suddenly up on his tiptoes and is leaning closer to Harry, delicate lips meeting Harry’s soft cheek. (And Harry really needs to think of another word to describe Louis besides ‘delicate’. Because he hasn’t known Louis long but he just knows Louis will hate that word being used anywhere in his general vicinity.) He pulls away after a few seconds, smirking. He can probably hear Harry’s pounding heart from where he stands or the screaming that is happening in his brain at the moment. His cheek is warm and he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s blushing or because Louis is the actual sun and the sun leaves fire on everything it touches without ever meaning to.

“Tea ready?” Louis suddenly asks as if the last few minutes had never even happened.

“What?” And now it’s Harry’s turn to be transfixed. 

“The tea? You made tea?” Louis supplies helpfully, jogging Harry’s memory. 

“Right!” Harry says, maybe a bit too loudly, and turns away from Louis to lead him back to the living room. “This way,” he says needlessly. Just trying to fill the gaping hole left in the room, he supposes. The gaping hole left in his mind, he supposes, coherent thought patterns now an impossibility.

Harry leads him wordlessly to the couch because, again, coherent thoughts are long gone after the kiss on the cheek. On  _ the cheek _ , mind you. Harry doesn’t want to imagine what would happen if Louis ever gave him more than that. 

He sits down first, gesturing for Louis to do the same. And, okay, his couch is quite large. Large enough for two grown men to sit comfortably a few feet apart if they wanted. But Louis decides to sit down so close to Harry that their knees are knocking together and their arms are brushing. Because of course that’s what Louis has decided to do. Because of course this is what Harry’s life is turning into- a relative stranger walking through the hallways of his home, looking at his pictures, kissing his cheek, drinking his tea, and making their skin touch. 

And Harry can’t say he minds, really. He’s just  _ confused _ and  _ overwhelmed _ . Because these things don’t happen. In the everyday world and especially not in Harry’s tiny and secluded one. He doesn’t have many friends, really. A few university ones and a few people from his job. But none of these people have ever fit so quickly and seamlessly into his life the way Louis has. He’s never known that he’s wanted or craved a presence like Louis but, now that he’s here, he doesn’t want him to take one step outside of what they’ve already started to build. 

“Don’t strain yourself,” Louis suddenly says, breaking Harry out of his… whatever that was.

“Wha’?” Harry eloquently responds.

“Quite deep in thought over there. Don’t want you pulling something,” Louis says, knocking his already close body into Harry’s, both of them swaying to the left. 

“Sorry,” Harry laughs, taking a sip of his rapidly chilling tea. “D’you, uh... should I put on a movie or something? ‘M not quite sure what to do now that you’ve seen my pictures.”

Louis looks into his cup for a quick second before taking a sip, slurping slightly, and Harry should  _ not  _ find that endearing but  _ honestly _ . “Sure. If you want. I mean, I can go. If you want. It's quite awkward now, innit?”

“No,” Harry says a bit too quickly but fuck it. “You can stay, if you want. Would love to have the company, really. Would probably be more awkward if you left now, I think. I mean, you haven’t even finished your tea.”

Louis snorts a laugh into his mug. “So that’s it then? Whenever I finish this, I have to leave? Good to know.” As soon as the last word leaves his mouth, before Harry can say  _ no that’s not what he meant _ , Louis looks defiantly over at him and bends his body forward so he can place the still nearly full mug on the table. 

Harry’s mouth quirks up on one side, dimple prominent, a bit of teeth showing. Louis’ expression remains stoic, solid, and all Harry gets from him is a quirk of the eyebrows, confident yet endearing. 

“S’hot. Gonna have to wait a bit to finish it. Don’t want to burn me tongue, do I?” Louis asks.

Harry shakes his head, placing his own mug down beside Louis’ and grabbing the remote control. “We definitely don’t want that.”

And Harry definitely doesn’t think about what Louis’ unburnt tongue could be used for later on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if I should continue this story? If enough people enjoy it, I would be more than happy to continue with it. I've already got some ideas. Comments are my motivators so give me some of those if you're feeling kind. And also be sure to follow me on Twitter @cherishedlarry as well as on Tumblr realizedyouweremissing.
> 
> Thank you all so, so much for the interest you've already put into this story. I cannot express just how grateful I am for every single one of you. Be sure to follow me on Twitter as I will be tweeting when each new chapter comes out. <3


	3. III

Harry does not, in fact, get to find out what Louis’ unburt tongue could be used for later on. Because Louis only sticks around for another hour.

His phone goes off right in the middle of a decently dramatic scene (there are tears and wailing voices from actors Harry can’t quite remember the names of at the moment because there’s a cute boy sitting on his couch) and Louis shoots off an apologetic smile before he gets up from the couch to take the call in the kitchen.

Harry is met with a sudden chill when Louis leaves his side. And his apartment is quite cold with the air-conditioner turned on high, he realizes, now that he’s minus Louis’ warm skin. Because, of course, their bodies had been pressed together the entire time. Not that Harry minded, of course. He does, however, mind it now because it’s _cold_.

He grabs the impossibly soft throw blanket that’s draped over the back of the couch and wraps it around his body. He tries to focus on the movie playing on the television in front of him, he promises, but Louis’ voice carries, okay?

“I’m at a mate’s, yeah… A few hours ago… Yeah, I can be there in about an hour, sure… No, it’s fine. I can just call a taxi… Alright, Steve, see you in a bit… Yup, bye.”

And Louis hasn’t even left yet but Harry already misses him. Well, he certainly misses his body heat already, that’s for sure.

Louis walks back into the living room still messing around on his phone. Probably setting about getting a ride, Harry thinks. He also thinks about offering Louis a ride to wherever he’s going to but decides he doesn’t want to be _that_ person. Too much, Harry, too much.

“Hey, so I actually have to get going. A mate of mine is doing a set downtown and he really wants me there. Sorry to have to jet off so fast.” And, the thing is, he sounds genuinely sorry to be leaving. Like he wishes he didn’t have to. Like he wishes he wasn’t such a good friend that he has to leave to spend time with someone who’s not Harry.

“A set?” Harry questions.

Louis nods as he reaches the couch and sits down beside (no, _against_ ) Harry once again. “Mhm. He’s a DJ. Steve Aoki? Not sure if you’ve heard of him.”

Harry blanches at that. “No shit. You’re _friends_ with Steve Aoki?”

Louis laughs. “Yeah. Met him on a flight a few years back. Embarrassed meself quite terribly by how much I fawned over him. But apparently he didn’t mind that ‘cause we’ve been friends ever since. I go to his sets whenever I’m in town.”

“Any other famous friends I should be aware of?” Harry asks with a chuckle, elbowing Louis gently.

Louis pretends to think, hand coming up to his chin, fingers stroking the stubbly skin. “Nope, just the one.”

“You need a ride?” Harry asks, needlessly, but he’s trying to pretend he hadn’t been listening so the question is actually quite a necessary one, okay? And, well, so much for not being _that_ person.

“I’m all set. Already called for a taxi,” Louis responds, grin small. He looks like he wants to say something else, Harry notices. He opens his mouth a few times before shutting it for good, looking down to his lap and letting his hair fall lazily into his face. Harry’s fingers itch to reach out and brush it aside and _honestly why_.

It’s the first bout of true awkwardness the two of them have felt since arriving at Harry’s place and he’s not quite sure what to do with the sudden heaviness. It’s the impending separation, Harry thinks, that’s done it. And he wonders why that’s the thing that’s pushed them over the edge. Not the whole inviting a stranger into his home to look at his photographs, not the hour long ride to said home, not the pressed together bodies on the couch. Only when Louis has to leave does it get slightly uncomfortable.

And, yes, he’s making a conscious effort not to dive too deep into that realization, thank you very much.

Louis stands up then, grabbing both his and Harry’s empty mugs and making his way wordlessly to the kitchen before Harry can protest. After shuffling over to where he had placed Louis’ bags earlier and grabbing them, Harry follows him in, watching in admiration as he rinses out the mugs. Familiar. Easy. Cozy. How are these words already a part of this… whatever you want to call it between Louis and Harry?

He puts the bags by the door before he approaches. “You don’t have to do that,” Harry says, walking up behind him and putting a hand on Louis’ shoulder to try and stop him. Well, mostly. He also just misses the feel of Louis’ body against his own. But nobody has to know that, really. He takes his hand off after a few seconds though, lest Louis find it a bit strange.

“I do what I wish, Harold,” Louis retorts, smile hidden within the attitude. He backs his body up a bit then, leg pressing lightly against Harry’s own.

And. Okay? Maybe Harry _should_ have kept his hand on his shoulder, then.

Harry could move away, he thinks. Maybe it was an accident. But, no. Because Louis is keeping his leg there and he’s certainly not acting as if he did it in a way that was anything other than on purpose.

He finishes washing the mugs and places them with quiet clinks into the drying rack. He finally, _finally_ , moves his leg then, pivoting around to face Harry. And, _God_ , his face is quite close to Harry’s face. Which means his lips are quite close to Harry’s lips. Blue is close to green and Harry is close to combustion. He can feel his cheeks heating up and his knees trying to collapse beneath him and is he shaking? He thinks he’s shaking.

Louis’ eyes suddenly widen, as if realizing the situation the two have found themselves in, and he clears his throat. “Uh… I have to get going.”

Harry takes a step back, looking sheepish but unregretful. “Yeah, uh, I guess you do.”

“Here, let me see your phone,” Louis says.

Harry reaches blindly into his back left pocket and unlocks it before handing it over to Louis. He watches as Louis putters about, clicking and typing. He hands it back with a sly grin and Harry looks down at what he’s done.

His phone is open to a new contact: Louis with the airplane emoji. Of course. He wouldn’t have expected anything less.

“This was, uh… this was nice. Really. Thanks for letting me come ‘round,” Louis says, playing with his fringe a bit. “And thanks for the tea.”

Harry nods. “Of course. Uh, you’re welcome here anytime.”

Louis smiles at that, crinkles finding their way to the sides of his eyes. “Be sure to text me so I can have your number. You know, so I can hound you about picking up that camera again. You really are talented, Harry. And I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”

Harry can’t keep his eyes on Louis at that, looking nervously down to his shuffling feet. “Thank you. And, yeah, I will. Text you.”

Harry steps further back and then leads them both over to the front door. He waits for Louis to get his shoes back on before he opens the door to let him out.

Louis stands in the open doorframe for awhile; again looking like he’s about to say something but thinks better of it by the end. But he seems to settle on something else entirely. And, once again, Harry is stunned into silence when Louis stands up on his toes, puts a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder, and gives him a kiss on the cheek. And with a slight smile, Louis picks up his belongings, turns around, and walks out the door.

Harry sags against the doorframe a bit as he watches him go.

 _Come back_ , he finds himself thinking.

“I’m fucked,” he says aloud.

\---

Harry waits a total of forty-five minutes before he texts Louis. An amazing feat, really. Considering Harry had found himself missing the man before he had even left his apartment.

_Hiiii, it’s Harry :)_

He doesn’t expect a reply right away but, alas, Louis’ response comes through a few seconds later.

**_Ahh, pun boy! Long time no speak ;)_ **

Harry snorts at that. “Pun boy”. He can’t say he minds that nickname, really. He _has_ always prided himself on his puns. And they brought Louis into his life, so. Nothing to complain about.

_Sorry, I know you’re probably busy. Just wanted you to have my number._

Harry’s not sorry at all, actually. But Louis doesn’t have to know that.

**_Nah, no bother. Glad you texted actually. Been stuck in traffic for the past twenty minutes and this taxi driver is playing the absolute WORST music I think I’ve ever heard._ **

_No Steve Aoki then?_

**_If only. Least then the traffic would be bearable. No, this guy is playing some weird metal shit that I can barely make out a single word to. I’m very confused and slightly scared._ **

Harry likes that Louis texts long messages. He likes it a lot, actually. He likes _Louis_ a lot, actually. Fucked. Harry is so fucked.

_No headphones?_

**_In my bag. In the trunk. Save meeeeee :(_ **

_Should have let me give you a ride. I would have let you have full control over the radio. Maybe even aux cord privileges._

Harry sends it before he can think better of it. But, when Louis’ response comes through, he can’t say he regrets it.

**_Guess I should have :( Next time I will give you the absolute honor of being my chauffeur._ **

Next time. As in next time they hang out? Next Aoki show Louis goes to? As in, Harry will be invited? What does “next time” mean?

_How soon is this treasured “next time” you speak of?_

Louis’ response doesn’t come right away and Harry thinks he’s fucked up. Maybe he was too forward. Maybe Louis said it without really meaning anything by it. Maybe Louis doesn’t want it to be as soon as Harry wishes it could be. All of these doubts (and plenty more) swirl around Harry’s head for a total of three minutes before Louis’ response finally pings through. And Harry _definitely_ doesn’t unlock his phone so fast that the swipe of his thumb causes him to drop it onto the living room floor. That definitely doesn’t happen so shut up.

**_As soon as you’d like it to be :)_ **

His next message comes through almost simultaneously.

**_Gotta go now, Haz. Just pulling up to the venue now. Text you later xx_ **

Harry’s left speechless and warm and happy and fuzzy.

“As soon as you’d like it to be.”

\---

Liam needs a new best friend. Honestly.

Because Harry has been at his place for a total of an hour and he’s managed to work in this mysterious “Louis” upwards of two hundred times. He never should have invited him over. But he’s a _nice person_ , okay? So when Harry had called him at about eight o’clock that night, completely despondent and speaking about some guy he’d met on his flight home, he had encouraged him to come right over.

But now, Liam regrets it. Completely. Well, not really. Because Liam’s a good person and Harry needs him right now but _God_ Harry’s a bit much when he’s drunk and enamored with some guy.

He’s tried to switch topics quite frequently but, somehow, Harry always brings it back around to this Louis person he met a week ago. Someone who he’s apparently been texting quite frequently the past few days.

“I don’t even _know_ him, Liam,” Harry’s saying now, Liam only half paying attention at this point. “‘S only been a week. But I already feel _so much_. My heart misses him.”

Harry may or may not be slightly drunk at this point, already about four beers into the night. Harry drinks fast when he’s upset about something. And Liam may or may not have been pushing them on him relentlessly in the hopes that he would become so inebriated that he would just pass out. Liam can only pray for that ending to the night at this point.

He’s got him all tucked up into his couch right now, blankets wrapped tightly around his body and heavy legs resting on Liam’s lap. He’s sitting sideways, head resting against a cushion on the back of the couch. One hand is tucked somewhere inside the blanket burrito Liam has created for the boy and the other is holding the almost empty beer.

“I know, Harry. Just… focus on building a friendship with him first, yeah? Find out more about him ‘cause, ya know… you really _don’t_ know him.”

Liam is trying to be helpful but Harry, clearly, doesn’t like what he’s just said because he’s suddenly _crying_ and _oh shit_. He forgot how weepy Harry could sometimes get when he’s had too much beer.

“I know I don’t know him, Liam! That’s my problem! Because I just want to skip all that and just… be where I want us to be. I don’t want to go through that whole dance and awkwardness because I just want to _be with him_. But I don’t want to scare him off and make him think I’m being too forward and too… much. How do I make that happen?!” he slurs.

Liam shrugs and reaches over to the nearby coffee table and plucks a few tissues from the box and hands them over to the weeping boy.

“You… can’t?” Liam ventures.

Harry’s face crumbles even further, bottom lip trembling, and Liam immediately tries to backpedal.

“I… I didn’t mean that you can’t _ever_ get there. But, Harry, you know that’s not how relationships work. Honestly, just keep doing what you’re doing. From all that you’ve told me so far, it sounds like Louis may very well be interested in something more with you too. But you can’t just make that jump overnight. No matter how much you want to.” Liam’s trying. He really is. Could be worse, he thinks. He’s certainly given worse advice in his life.

“How ‘bout this?” he asks and waits for Harry to look at him. Well, kind of. His eyes are glazed and teary and unfocused. “Tomorrow, when you’re not… like this, you can call him and invite him over for a lads night this weekend. We’ll get takeaway and beer and we’ll just… hang out. That way, it’s non-threatening, right? And I’ll get to meet him?”

Harry smiles through his tears. “You don’t mind being a third wheel, then?” His speech is slurring more by the minute, consonants slow and drawn out, melding together in a way that sounds a lot like impending sleep. Fucking finally.

“No, of course no-” Liam’s sentence is interrupted by a suddenly alert Harry.

“NIALL!” he yells and Liam (embarrassingly) flinches, slightly spilling his mostly still full beer onto Harry’s bundled up legs.

“What?” he asks in slight anger, grabbing yet another tissue to try and soak up a bit of the mess he’s made.

“Niall,” Harry says quieter, as if it was the volume of the word that had Liam confused.

“Gonna need a bit more than that, mate,” Liam says.

“Louis’ friend. Day I met Lou. Flight attendant. Copenhagen. Home though,” Harry explains as best he can. And although his sentences are fractured, Liam thinks he’s understood the gist of it.

“You wanna invite Niall?” Liam supplies.

“Mhm,” Harry nods. “More comfortable for us, I think.” He closes his eyes halfway through the statement and lets out a sigh. “Really like him, Li.”

It doesn’t take a genius to realize the conversation has found its way back to Louis and Harry’s unwavering feelings for him.

Liam stops rubbing the tissue against Harry’s blanketed legs and, instead, rubs them with a comforting hand. If he could reach his head, he would run his fingers through his hair since he knows that always can immediately calm Harry down. But, alas, he’s got giraffe legs across his own. So they’ll just have to do for now.

“I know, Haz. We’ll get the ball rolling tomorrow, okay?” He can tell Harry’s quite close to sleep, his body resuming its slumped position against the couch.

“Heh,” he laughs on a breath. “Ball.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “You are a grown man, Harry.”

Harry frowns, bottom lip protruding and eyebrows furrowing. But he doesn’t say anything and Liam thinks that’s a good sign.

It takes less than a minute before Harry’s out cold, face relaxing and mouth falling open. His beer bottle starts to tip out of his slackened hand but Liam’s reflexes kick in just in time to prevent any spillage. He places both his and Harry’s bottles of opposite fullness onto the coffee table before he gingerly lifts Harry’s legs off his own. Though why he’s trying to be gentle he doesn’t know because, if Harry’s deep and audible breaths are anything to go by, the guy could probably sleep through an actual nuclear explosion.

Regardless, Liam keeps his touch gentle and his movements quiet as he helps Harry settle down into a more comfortable position on the couch, head properly placed on a pillow and legs extended. He runs a hand through Harry’s mess of curls to get them out of his face before he grabs both bottles from the table and brings them into the kitchen.

When he walks back into the living room, turning off the lights along the way, he can hear Harry contently snoring away from his burrito on the couch.

And, for now, things are okay.

\---

Harry wakes up the following morning to a pounding head, a dry mouth, and a shifty stomach. He groans a bit as he maneuvers his body to lay on his back, arms coming up to cross over his eyes to stop any unwanted light from leaking through. He registers, barely, that he’s not in his bed. And he can also hear someone puttering about in a room nearby, running water and clinking pans.

“Here, mate,” a voice suddenly chimes from above and he moves one arm to squint up at the presence. Liam. Right. He’s at Liam’s. The man is holding a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. And what a beautiful sight that is to behold.

“You are a vision,” Harry croaks out before he attempts to sit up the best he can. It’s a slow process, what with the contents of his stomach sloshing about unpleasantly. But he eventually disentangles himself from the blankets that are now wrapped solely around his legs. It takes a bit but he eventually finds himself vertical and he eagerly takes the a _ctual gifts_ Liam is offering.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” Liam teases, making his way back into the kitchen.

Harry grimaces when he swallows the pills, trying desperately to keep them from coming right back up. Somehow he succeeds and then proceeds to chug the rest of the water down, letting out a refreshed-sounding “ahhh” once he’s done.

He forces himself to remain sitting upright, knowing that if he goes back to his old position, all hope would be lost. He’d be down for the count in a heartbeat. He swings his legs off the couch then and gets himself to a standing position in slow intervals. But, eventually, he’s up and calls out a “gonna take a shower” to Liam before making his way to the bathroom.

He chooses the dark to shower in, his head begging for as little light as possible. He figures he should probably listen. Because if he doesn’t, his body will certainly protest in the ugliest of ways; more than it is currently, that is.

He uses a bit more of Liam’s body wash and shampoo than he probably should but he doesn’t exactly feel bad about it. He needs to wash the shame of the previous night off his body, you see. And while he knows that isn’t exactly completely possible, the illusion of it is enough of a comfort for him at the moment.

Harry takes his sweet old time in the shower. Slow and languid, that’s how he wants the rest of the day to be. He doesn’t want to think about sunshine and flurry and wittiness and blue eyes. Namely, he doesn’t want to think about Louis. He doesn’t remember much of last night, the details quite muddled together, but he does remember the boy’s name falling from his clumsy lips way too many times. Apologize to Liam- that’s the first item on the day’s agenda.

“I’m sorry.” And check that off the list, then. He says it as soon as he walks into the kitchen, Liam still there and just now plating proper fry-ups for the both of them. It smells divine but Harry’s stomach still rolls dangerously. Tea first, then.

Liam looks up at him curiously, scraping the last of the food onto Harry’s plate, bottom lip extended slightly in a bit of a pout. “What’s that?” he asks.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Harry clarifies only a bit of his original meaning. “Y’know… the whole… Louis thing.”

And there’s the recognition on Liam’s face, the apology suddenly making a lot more sense. “You have nothing to apologize for.” He’s being completely honest, Harry can tell just from his eyes, but _come on_.

“Yes I do. I’m sure I was insufferable last night. The only thing I can really remember is saying Louis’ name over and over. I can only imagine how it must have been for you.”

Liam puts the pan into the sink, a slight sizzle coming when the burning hot metal meets the cool water, before turning back to Harry with a suddenly mischievous look playing across his features. “Do you remember what I said at the end of the night?” he asks.

Harry furrows his brow and takes a seat at the table where a cup of tea is already waiting for him. _Bless_. “I don’t think so?” He’s hesitant and when Liam continues, he knows the slight fear was certainly not for nothing.

“We’re gonna set up a lads’ night. You, me, Louis, and… Niall, I think you said his name was? Louis’ mate?”

Harry splutters and a bit of tea flies out of his mouth as he takes a sip at the literal worst time possibly. “Wha’?” he manages to get out once he’s collected himself. Which happens to be right as Liam walks over with both plates and sits across from him, immediately digging into his own food.

“What words in there did you not understand?” Liam asks with his mouth full.

Harry shakes his head and takes another, non-spluttered sip of tea. He can already feel his stomach relaxing. Although his heart is a completely different story. “I didn’t… did I agree to that?”

Liam shrugs and shoves another forkful into his mouth. And Harry can only _wish_ he was equally as calm as his best friend right about now. “You did. And you’re not getting out of it now in the light of sobriety.”

“Eloquent,” Harry responds with a roll of his eyes as he takes his first bite of breakfast. Which is heavenly, really. His stomach is already thanking him.

“You’re calling him after breakfast,” Liam says, leaving no room for argument.

Well then, just fuck Harry sideways.

\---

His palms are already sweating and the phone has only gotten halfway through the first ring. He can’t do this. He wants to hang up, _needs_ to hang up. But Liam is sitting beside him and is looking at him with these eyes and Harry’s already too deep into this. And he knows that, if he chickens out now, Liam will just call Louis himself. He’s certainly not above doing that.

“Hello?” a cheerful voice chimes from the other end of the line. And _oh shit_ , Harry hadn’t thought this far ahead. He’s pretty sure his eyes widen because Liam nudges his side and nods his head vigorously.

“H-hi. It’s Harry.” Harry’s an idiot, he really is. _Louis has your number. He knows who it is. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

“Hello, Harry. This is Louis speaking.” A smile can be heard in Louis’ voice even through the tinny speakers.

“Yeah, uh… hi.”

“Said that already,” Louis chides.

“Sorry, I’m a bit hungover to be honest. Mind’s a bit fuzzy. But uh, I was with Liam last night. Still am, actually. And I-”

He’s cut off from a sudden shout next to him. “Hi, Louis!”

He startles and pulls the phone away from his ear and points it more towards Liam because he knows exactly what’s coming next.

“Hi, Liam!” Louis returns.

Harry brings the phone back to his ear as he sends Liam daggers. Liam shrugs innocently, of course.

“Anyways, we were talking last night and were thinking about doing some sort of… lads’ night? You know, takeaway, beer, movies, the whole nine yards. And, we were wondering…” Harry stops himself and rephrases it. Because why not? “Well, _I_ was wondering,” he emphasizes. “Whether you and maybe Niall, if he’s around, would like to join us. We were thinking maybe on Saturday? It’ll be really low key and, of course, if you don’t want to, like, if you’re not comfortable, I totally understand-”

Louis’ voice cuts Harry off from all his rambling. And… is he _laughing_ ? “Harry, I came over to your place, _on my own_ , after only knowing you for a few hours. And you thought I wouldn’t be comfortable with something like _this_?”

Harry lets out a laugh of his own. “I… I don’t know. Guess I’m just nervous.”

Louis’ voice is fond when he speaks again. “What time were you thinking?”

Harry looks to Liam. “Maybe around 5?” Liam nods in confirmation. “And we’ll do it at my place. Since you’ve already been there and Brian knows you and all that.”

“I’ll be there,” Louis says.

Harry beams and he hears Liam let out a soft chuckle next to him before he gets up off the couch and leaves the room, presumably because he doesn’t wish to intrude on the rest of the conversation. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Wouldn’t miss it. And I’ll text Niall to see if he’s around. He should be. I don’t think his next flight is until Monday.”

“What about you? When’s your next flight?” Harry asks.

“Hmmm,” Louis hums, a thinking sound. “Not ‘til next week. Thursday night or Friday morning, I can’t remember.”

“Good,” Harry says before he can think too much about it. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head in embarrassment, even though Louis can’t exactly see him at the moment.

“And why would that be good, Harry?” Louis’ teasing but he also sounds genuinely curious.

Well, he might as well put it out there now, right? “Because, ya know, maybe we could, I don’t know, hang out? Before you have to leave?” Not as confident-sounding as he wishes it came out but it’ll do.

“I would like that quite a lot, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes pop open at that and he’s stuck in silence. “A-awesome,” he eventually stammers out. “Anyways, um, I’ll let you go. Let me know what Niall says, alright?”

“Yes sir, will do. And thanks, ya know, for inviting us. I’m looking forward to it,” Louis says, tone suddenly much quieter and gentler than it had been previously.

“Of course. I’m looking forward to it too. But, um, I’ll text you later?” It sounds too much like a question even though it only partly is.

“Not if I text you first. Bye, Haz.” And, with that, Louis hangs up.

Harry doesn’t realize he’s shaking until he moves the phone away from his ear.

And when a text pings through not more than ten seconds later that reads:

**_Beat you ;)_ **

Harry can’t exactly say he’s surprised.

\---

Saturday comes around too soon for Harry to handle. But it also comes about too slowly. If that makes sense. It probably doesn’t but Harry can’t be arsed to care, really.

He’s spent the days since the phone call texting Louis regularly, little bits throughout the day and deeper ponderings into the night. Louis likes to talk about the universe, he’s come to find out. Harry mentions how the universe is expanding and Louis talks about how every star in the night sky is long dead and Harry replies that he hopes they’re resting in peace and Louis wonders if there’s a star heaven and Harry very nearly replies that Louis deserves to live in a place with the brightest beings after his time on Earth comes to an end but he backspaces on that text so fast and changes the topic to something about dogs.

And now it’s Saturday, 4:45 to be exact, and Liam’s already here, helping Harry prep his place for the event. He’s been cleaning like a madman the past few days so there’s little to do in that department so Harry leaves Liam in charge of laying out takeaway menus for their guests to choose from, setting out a few beers to start each of them off, and pulling up Netflix on Harry’s television. Harry, for his part, finds extra pillows and blankets to make his couch that much more comfy, sets out some snacks to tide the boys over until their food arrives, and anxiously waits for the text Louis told him he would send the minute he pulled into the garage with Niall.

Said text comes through at exactly 5:03. And Harry very nearly has a coronary. He’s not ready. He’s not. He hasn’t seen Louis in nearly two weeks, and the fact that they’ve been talking nearly non-stop apparently does nothing to calm Harry’s firing nerves.

**_We’re heeeerrrrreeeee!!_ **

Louis’ so cute, honestly. Just a simple text has got Harry feeling all sorts of funny things- butterflies and heated cheeks and somersaulting stomach and he’s beaming. Happy, happy, happy. Louis makes him happy.

“They’re here, Li! I’m gonna go get them,” he shouts as he’s already heading out the door. He may or may not have been standing by said door with his shoes on for the past twenty minutes. But nobody has to know that besides Liam and he doesn’t care what that guy thinks. He’s seen it all and hasn’t ever judged Harry too harshly. Or, rather, judged him any more than he deserved at particular moments in time.

The elevator down to the lobby has never gone so slow before. Management must have known what was happening in Harry’s life and switched the elevator’s speed or something. Can that happen? Harry didn’t think so but now he thinks it very well can.

The doors finally open and he’s greeted by a smiling Louis and Niall who are casually chatting to Brian by the door. He notices Niall holding a case of beer and Louis holding a bottle of wine even though Harry had _explicitly and repeatedly_ told Louis that they were not to bring anything, that Harry had it covered.

As he gets closer, Harry very nearly loses his breath because _holy shit_ he apparently had forgotten just how gorgeous Louis was. His hair nearly comes down to his shoulders but the way he has it styled makes it look anything but unkempt. It’s swept back off his face, bits of it tucked behind his ears, and the fly away pieces look like they were placed there deliberately. His outfit is simple- plain white t-shirt, tight stone-washed jeans which are curled up at the end of each pant leg, white Vans. And yet, he still looks so stunning and Harry wants to throw up. But he also wants to kiss Louis until he’s breathless. And that’s a terrifying combination of feelings.

He practically speed walks over to the two of the chatty pals and smiles at Louis when he’s the first one to notice Harry’s presence.

“Hey,” Louis grins brightly, beaming.

Niall stops mid-sentence, looking away from Brian towards where Harry’s rapidly approaching. “Pun boy!” he says, a bit too loudly for a posh apartment lobby but no one’s about to tell him off for it. Not even the stuffy woman at the front desk who just looks incredibly endeared by Niall’s unapologetic livelihood.

“Hey, Niall,” he returns happily once he’s reached them. He kind of just stands there with his hands behind his back, unsure of the greeting he’s meant to give. Handshakes seem too formal and hugs seem too intimate so he’s left in kind of an awkward limbo. But Niall makes the decision for him in the end because Harry’s suddenly got tufts of blonde hair in his mouth and a single arm wrapped around him (since the other is busy holding the precious beer). He unwittingly lets out an “oomph” from the sudden impact and wraps both arms around Niall once the initial shock has worn off. “Good to see you. Thanks for coming.”

Niall pulls away and beams up at him. “Thanks for inviting me. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Niall is a caricature, really. This kind of energy and spirit cannot be coming from a real person. Nobody is like this in real life, Harry thinks. Yet here Niall stands, confusing Harry to bits.

“Alright, my turn,” Louis speaks up. And then he’s in Harry’s arms and suddenly Harry is flashing back to their discussion of magnets and everything about this moment feels right. Even though they have the attention of Niall and Brian and stuffy lady and everyone else milling about in the lobby, the sudden scrutiny is not unwanted. And it goes against the beliefs Harry has held his entire life but he really doesn’t care that all these people are watching and judging. Because Louis is here and Louis is warm in the literal and figurative sense of the word and everything makes sense.

He hadn’t exactly forgotten about the way that Louis had made him feel when they had first collided two weeks ago but, rather, he had felt that maybe he had played it up a bit too much in his head. That maybe it hadn’t been as beautiful as he remembers it being. You can’t always trust your memories, Harry thinks.

But this is exactly how he remembers Louis, if not better.

He pulls away too soon and Harry calls out a “thank you” to Brian before he leads the group over to the elevator.

Liam is in the kitchen when Harry opens the door and scurries over to greet the two guests; one of which he’s heard _honestly way too much_ about. But the other, thankfully, is a stranger and, yes, Liam can work with this. “Hey guys. ‘M Liam. Nice to finally meet you,” he greets, extending a hand. Because of course he’s going right for a handshake.

But that’s clearly not even an option for Niall because he gives Liam the same treatment he had given Harry down in the lobby, going right in for the hug.

“Here, let me take that. Even though I specifically said don’t bring anything,” Harry says quietly to Louis, extending a hand to take the bottle of wine. It’s a Rosé, Harry notices from his quick peek at the label.

“And _I_ specifically said that I do what I wish, Harold,” he replies, stepping closer into Harry’s space, tauntingly raising his eyebrows and smirking. Harry thinks back to mugs of tea and too-close knees.

Harry smirks back. “Fair enough,” he says before walking away to place the bottle in the refrigerator to chill.

Louis stays back to wait for his turn with Liam and Harry just watches his two worlds colliding. Louis goes up to Liam once Niall is done with his signature greeting and gives Liam a typical bro hug. He doesn’t hold on for nearly as long as Niall had and certainly not even close to the length of time he had stayed in Harry’s embrace.

He chooses not to think too hard about that for the time being. He’s got a whole night of contemplation ahead of him. .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to heat up in the next chapter so get excited for that. I'm in a really amazing creative space right now (shockingly) and I hope it continues as I would love to do weekly updates. But I make no promises because I am human trash. Thank you all for the support you've shown this story so far. This was only meant to be a short, 6,000 word thing but it's turning into something so much bigger than I ever expected it to be. And I have you all to thank for that.
> 
> I'm not above begging so here I go: PLEASE leave a comment below; good, bad, or otherwise. Comments motivate me more than is probably healthy so I kind of need them? I'm trash, as I said. 
> 
> And, as always, be sure to follow me on Twitter (@cherishedlarry) and on Tumblr (realizedyouweremissing). Come talk to me about Louis and Harry as that is a topic I am always ready and willing to delve into.


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for the cliche "lads' night" so here's nearly 7,000 words of that beautiful trope. (I also didn't expect to get this chapter done so quickly buuuut here it is. Somehow. Wowzers.)
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to Madison who is always shook when she gets emails about this story being updated. I love you so much little honey child <3

Harry can’t stop watching him. It’s borderline creepy, if he’s honest, the way he’s just staring at Louis’ profile. Harry’s leaning his body against the opening between the kitchen and the living room, ankles crossed over one another and arms crossed over his chest. He’s slightly tuned in to the bickering that’s going on in the room behind him between Liam and Niall. Last Harry had looked at them, they had the various takeaway menus spread out on the counter and a notepad and pen right beside them. He can only guess that they’re arguing over what to get, both Louis and Harry allowing their best friends to speak for them.

“You know my tastes better than I know my own,” Louis had told Niall before he had scurried off to the living room.

Harry had wondered, just for a second, whether there was a double meaning hidden in there somewhere. But he decides not to dwell on it. Again, he has a whole night. Endless possibilities await him, really.

But he has to focus on the now, he thinks. And, now, Harry’s staring, admiring, the man as he sits in front of the television, using the remote to scroll through the movie options on Netflix. He’s in the “horror” category right now and Harry is biting his tongue. Because he can’t exactly tell Louis he hates scary movies. Because that will just cause Louis to pick the scariest one on the list. And he can’t say he loves them because then he’d be lying and he’s almost certain Louis will be able to see through that bullshit immediately. And the same result as the first scenario will undoubtedly occur. So Harry keeps his mouth shut and hopes that nothing will strike Louis’ fancy in this particular section.

But _of course_ that’s not how Harry’s life is going to play out because Louis, for some God-forsaken reason, has settled on _The Conjuring_ and Harry has heard enough about this movie to know he’s for sure going to shit his pants. Not exactly what he had hoped for on a night like this.

A night like this. What does he even mean by that? He’s not hoping for anything in particular, per say, but he _is_ hoping for… well, _something_. Harry wants a something and he hopes this ‘something’ isn’t too much to ask.

He’s owed this ‘something’, he thinks, since whatever all-powerful being is in charge of all of this has allowed Louis to pick _the movie from hell_ . A movie that Harry has never watched _for a fucking reason_.

He very nearly objects. Very nearly puts his pride aside and says, “No way”. Very nearly begs Louis to pick something else. But then Louis turns his head to look at Harry, and gives him this _look_ that is both innocent and mischievous. Somehow. Louis Tomlinson is an enigma. Harry recognized that fact long ago but it still stuns him every once in awhile.

But, yes, back to the present wherein Louis is looking at him and smirking as if he _knows_ that Harry is already scared just from the still of the movie that’s on the screen right now even though Harry’s got his best poker face on and he doesn’t know what to do or say and he doesn’t know why Louis’ making him feel all sorts of funny things and he thinks maybe he’s actually willing to watch this movie regardless of his own hesitations if only to make Louis happy and… okay, breathe.

“You seen this?” Louis asks knowingly, pointing to the television with the hand that’s still grasping the remote.

Harry shakes his head, lips turned into a contemplative frown, as he pushes off the wall and walks closer to where Louis sits. “Can’t say I have, no. You?”

Louis nods and turns back to the screen. “One of my favorites, actually. Niall hasn’t seen it either even though I keep telling him he needs to. He hasn’t yet though so I think tonight is the perfect opportunity to finally make that happen. It’s even better that you haven’t seen it. You know if Liam has?”

Harry shakes his head and lets out a snort. “He definitely hasn’t. He’s not the biggest horror movie fan. Tends to scream at every little thing and enjoys yelling at the characters about how stupid they are for going into the basement.”

Harry’s half-describing Liam while also half-describing himself but Louis doesn’t need to know that. Not yet, anyway. He supposes Louis will find out soon enough so as much time as he can keep Louis in the dark about the truth is fine by him. It’s encouraged, even.

“Oh, that’s perfect. I love watching horror films with screamers. Makes for a better experience, I find.” Louis smirks as he places the remote onto the TV stand and starts to get up from his position on the floor.

Harry doesn’t think about it at all before he reaches out a hand to help Louis up. Louis meets his eyes and then looks down at the outstretched hand, smiling deliciously. He takes it and Harry pulls him up until he’s standing… too close. Louis’ breath is dancing across Harry’s collarbones, hands still clasped, his toes touching the edges of Harry’s sock-clad ones. Louis is staring at Harry’s chest before he looks up at the taller boy, gazing at him through his eyelashes. Harry lets out a shaky breath and doesn’t want to scare the man off by following through on what his body is asking him to do right now but _my God_ is it hard.

The _temptation_ is hard. Nothing _else_ is hard. Don’t read into that.

But then Louis looks back down, cheeks reddening as he takes a step back, removing his hand from Harry’s. And Harry suddenly feels empty and cold and feels this pang in his chest that he knows he shouldn’t be experiencing. But his body is not his own anymore. His chemical reactions are not his. They’re Louis’.

Louis’ mouth falls open a bit then, looking as if he’s about to say something, when a commanding and cheery voice interrupts him. “Food’s ordered!” Niall yells into the room, bounding over to where the two boys still stand, seemingly oblivious to the feeling-filled standoff that had just ended a few seconds ago.

Louis looks over to him and beams. “What’d you end up ordering?”

Niall smiles. “Got a bit from each.”

Harry blanches. “There were six different menus, Niall.”

Niall shrugs. “I know. We only ordered one thing from each, don’t worry. Well, except for that Italian place. Everything just looked too good.”

Harry closes his eyes and shakes his head in disbelief. Louis brushes past him then and walks over to where Niall stands nearby, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“Can’t say I’m surprised. As long as you ordered me some kind of pasta, I won’t make fun of you too much for this,” Louis says.

“Psh, of course I did. The cheesiest dish they had. You won’t be disappointed,” Niall replies.

Louis removes his arm then and ruffles Niall’s hair. Harry’s own hair aches for that. _Can_ hair yearn for things? Apparently it can.

Louis turns away then and walks into the kitchen where Liam still resides, leaving Harry and Niall on their own. For the first time ever, Harry realizes.

“Thanks again for inviting us, Harry,” Niall says, walking closer to Harry and slinging his arm around Harry’s shoulders now, mimicking Louis’ earlier position.

“Of course, Niall. No need to keep thanking me. I’m glad you could make it,” he responds.

Niall pauses for a bit, contemplating or debating whether he should say what he wants to say next.

“You know, Louis hasn’t stopped talking about you since we met you. Been quite annoying, actually. Insufferable,” Niall says.

And oh. Okay. What the _fuck_ is Harry supposed to do with this new knowledge?

He lets out a nervous cough into a closed fist. Because he doesn’t know what to say, really. Doesn’t know what to think. Doesn’t know what Niall’s intentions are with that statement. Because Harry had just figured _he_ was the only one who had been so enthusiastic about a new friend. Figured there’s no way Louis had felt nearly as frazzled and intrigued by what the two of them already had started to develop. But, hearing that Louis has been the same insufferable mess is terrifying and comforting all at the same time.

“Really?” he simply asks, choosing to remain as outwardly neutral and unaffected as possible. No use giving Niall any leverage over him. That knowledge could easily get back to Louis if Niall catches on and Harry really doesn’t need that. “What’s he been saying?”

Niall snorts. “God, everything. Been reading me some of his favorite text exchanges, been talking about how you’re an amazing photographer and he hopes you keep at it, how he didn’t know if he was the one who was supposed to set up a time for you two to hang out next or if you were gonna do it. It’s been a rough go, mate. So, sincerely, thank you for setting this up. Maybe now he’ll shut up.”

“Sorry, uh, about that. To be fair, Liam’s surely in the same boat as you. I’ve been quite annoying myself,” he admits quietly, admitting it to Niall as much as he’s admitting it to himself. “Just didn’t know how to approach him, I guess. Didn’t know if he was even interested in keeping up a friendship with me. Kind of was just hoping he didn’t find me creepy or summat.”

Niall snickers at that. “Harry, honestly, he was saying the same things about you. Told me how he wishes-”

Niall’s cut off then by the appearance of both Louis and Liam. They walk side by side into the living room and Liam points at the coffee table where the beers had been placed in waiting just a little bit ago. Louis’ shoulders sag in relief and he immediately walks over and grabs one, taking a big swig before letting out a refreshed “ahhh”.

Niall’s distracted then, too much to come back to that conversation anytime soon, once he realizes there’s beer on the table and _how did he not notice that_ , Harry can practically hear his thoughts of disbelief. He walks over to Louis and picks up a bottle of his own, taking a swig as deep as Louis had.

But Harry wants to know what Niall had been about to say. His heart is racing with it, pumping out question marks. What had Louis wished for? What had Harry not done that Louis had wanted? Or was it something Louis, himself, wishes he had done? Should Harry have set something up sooner? Well, yes, he believes he should have but had Louis had the same desires? Was he just as scared, if not more so, by the implications of more time together and what it could mean or what it could turn into?

Louis _had_ looked a bit scared earlier, Harry realizes. And he had had the same facial expression of uncertainty and hyper-realization last time he had come by. When he had finished washing the mug and had turned around, in Harry’s space and Harry in his. Was that too much? But, no, because Louis had initiated the closeness… right? Or, rather, he hadn’t been put off by it at the start. He had looked like he wanted it, to get impossibly close if Harry would let him.

So what exactly is going on is unclear to Harry at the moment. But he’s got plenty of moments to try and figure it out.

\---

The food starts to arrive fifteen minutes later and the deliveries are finally finished within the next thirty. Harry’s pretty sure a few of the delivery people had run into each other either in the elevator or down in the lobby and been extremely confused as to why they were all delivering to the same place. But that’s no bother, really. Harry will leave the contemplation up to them. See what they can come up.

The boys are all settled into various portions of the couch. The _large_ couch, as Harry has pointed out in the past. And yet, Harry’s got this body pressed up against him.

Louis’ upper arm is lightly resting against his while his left knee is placed alongside Harry’s right. And this is a thing now, apparently. Not that he minds that this is a thing that’s happening at the moment, much as he hadn’t minded it the first time it occurred. He would invite Louis over every day if it meant that all he got was this innocent-feeling contact. It’s enough to placate Harry. Or, at least until he figures out what’s got Louis so freaked out, he amends.

They’ve got the footie match on, something Louis and Niall had both insisted upon, as they open up various containers of steaming food and start to dig in. There are Chinese, Indian, Mexican, Italian, Thai, and American dishes all laid out in front of them; appetizers, main courses, and desserts alike.

Their stomachs are _so_ going to hate them later.

Louis’ sticking mainly to the Italian dishes, Harry notes, already making a dent in some cheesy pasta dish.

“Niall, you were so right,” he says on what almost sounds like a moan.

 _Don’t even think about trying to memorize that sound, Harry_ , he keeps to himself.

“Good, right?” Niall pipes up, mouth full.

“What even is that? Looks good, whatever it is,” Harry says.

Louis looks at him and then back down at his dish. He uses the fork that’s still in his hand to stab a few noodles, being sure to scoop up a healthy amount of cheese and sauce. And then he does something that Harry isn’t sure how to handle. Physically or mentally.

He extends the fork so it’s right at Harry’s mouth. Louis is… Louis’ _feeding him_ . Alright. Everything’s _fucking fine_.

“Try it,” Louis coaxes, inching the fork closer so it’s just barely pressed up against Harry’s lips which are already unconsciously parting for more reasons than one.

Harry opens his mouth, tongue sticking out of its own accord (the most embarrassing bad habit he has, to be quite honest), and allows the fork to be put into his mouth. He takes his sweet time gathering up all the pasta and dripping cheese and sauce, licking off the bits that don’t come easily. And the whole time, of course, he keeps his eyes locked on Louis.

He’s smirking, Harry notices. Delighted. His eyebrows are raised just a bit and his eyes are ever so slightly wider than they usually are. He’s watching Harry’s mouth, watching him suck up all the food. Harry likes what he’s doing to Louis. Glad Louis had the idea of doing this.

In a normal situation, he might be a bit embarrassed by this. Might not make it look quite as suggestive as he is right now. But this is Louis. And Harry really likes Louis. And Harry really likes watching Louis squirm. Likes watching him seemingly get confused by his own emotions and desires. Harry likes to push Louis, basically.

So Harry’s not going to hold back now, is he? Because he’s got Louis right where he wants him. Squirmy and conflicted and excited all at once. It’s a delicious combination, really.

So he hollows his cheeks and pulls back off the fork nice and slow-like, watching Louis the entire way. He chews slowly too, of course, savoring the dish as well as the expression of the other man. Both are scrumptious.

Louis collects himself right as Harry swallows, placing the fork back into the dish. His face is back to normal, smirk still somewhat present but eyebrows back in their normal resting place and eyes back to their normal size.

“So, what’s the verdict?” he asks with a smirk that’s turned into an all-knowing one.

“Best thing I’ve tasted in awhile. Absolutely delicious,” Harry says before his tongue comes out (this time on purpose) to lick up any remnants of the pasta that remained anywhere on his lips.

“You can have some if you want. Here, give me your plate.” Louis gestures with one hand for Harry to pass it over. Harry gladly obliges after moving a bit of some kind of Chinese rice dish to the side to make room. Louis scoops a few forkfuls onto the plate and hands it back to Harry. “Here you are.”

“Mmm, thanks,” Harry says.

And if Louis notices that he doesn’t eat the rest of his food nearly as seductively as he had with Louis’ forkful, he doesn’t comment on it.

\---

Harry takes Louis out onto the balcony during halftime, a lull having settled over the group after stuffing their faces and tuning out the commercials flashing across the television. And seeing things he was never going to buy and places he was never going to go to bored Louis enough to make his body itch. Harry had noticed the squirming, a different kind than before, and had suggested they make their way to the balcony with an enviable view of London.

“You can see The Eye juuuuuust about… there.” Harry’s standing directly behind Louis, one hand loosely touching one of his hips and arm extended over his shoulder, pointing right at Louis’ eyeline. Louis’ hair is blowing slightly in the chilly summer evening breeze, tickling Harry’s exposed skin. Harry’s skin is bristling and he doesn’t know whether it’s the wind, the hair, or the beautiful boy in front of him.

“This is beautiful, Haz,” Louis lets out on a whisper. “This view is just…”

He doesn’t need to finish the sentence for Harry to know exactly what he means.

“Still stuns me sometimes,” Harry supplies. “Like, especially if I’ve been away for awhile. Coming back to this is just… amazing, really.”

“Makes you feel small, doesn’t it? Fleeting, I guess,” Louis says on a breath. Harry’s still holding him so Louis cranes his neck to see Harry properly. He’s got both hands on Louis’ hips now and Louis isn’t looking like he’s about to push away or step out of his hold. It’s a tiny bit of progress but Harry’ll take it.

“How so?” And Harry gets adventurous then, moving his arms to snake entirely around Louis’ waist, holding him close. His lips are against Louis’ hair and a few strands tickle his nose. Again, Harry waits for the pushback or the sudden fear to overtake Louis but it never comes.

Louis sighs, looks back out at the city, and ever so slightly leans back into Harry, his own hands coming to rest over Harry’s. He’s hesitant, Harry can tell, but he stays and he’s comfortable.

“Like, you’re just one person. I’m just one person. But there are millions of people in that city down there. And here we are, watching it all happen. But one day, we won’t be. Hell, in a few _minutes_ , we won’t be. We’re just observing. Waiting. A minuscule part of something so much bigger. How much, really, do we add to it all? What’s my meaning, y’know? What’s _yours_? I’m sure you mean a lot more to this world than I do but… still. I don’t know. I’m not making a lot of sense, am I?”

Harry could listen to Louis talk about the universe for the rest of his life, really. He doesn’t want him to ever stop. But, eventually, his ramblings come to a natural end and Harry misses his voice already.

Make Louis talk some more, that’s the plan.

“No, you are. But why on earth do you think _I_ make more of an impact than you? On the contrary, I find it to be the other way ‘round.”

Is that a good enough setup for another ramble? Harry hopes so.

“Oh, come off it,” Louis scoffs. “Don’t even start with that. I’m a _flight attendant_ , Harry. I wouldn’t exactly call that making an impact.”

Harry is about to say something to argue against that because _no_ , Louis isn’t allowed to talk about himself like that when Louis speaks up again.

“‘M still trying to figure myself out, you know? What am I meant to be doing? Is this it? Not that where I’m at now is bad, necessarily, but. Have I figured it out? Am I doing what I’m supposed to be doing? Because, I still feel like something’s missing.”

Harry hums in contemplation. “What about life outside of your job? That could be where something’s missing.” And if his name is hidden within those sentiments then oh well. Maybe Louis will pick up on it, maybe he won’t.

Louis lets out a loud sigh. “God, you sound like Niall.” He sounds a bit put out and Harry didn’t really expect that.

“S-sorry?” he stammers.

Louis shakes his head. “No, it… it’s fine. It’s just…” He stops talking for a bit, too long of a pause falling over them.

“Finish that sentence, Lou. It’s okay.”

He sighs again, but this time he sounds less annoyed and more resigned. “Niall’s always hounding me about finding someone, right? And it’s just… it’s difficult for me. I don’t date and I don’t hook up with strangers the way Niall always did until he found his now fiancée and he doesn’t understand why I can’t just… do that and I’ve tried explaining to him why I can’t but it’s… he doesn’t _get it_ , you know?”

Harry holds him just a bit tighter. “Do you want to explain it to me? I’ll listen and I’ll try my very best to understand. I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want. But I’m here, okay? Now or later. Whenever you want to talk about it.”

Harry can just see a bit of Louis’ face, basically a profile, so he can see when the edges of Louis’ mouth turn up into a smile. Such a lovely, lovely sight.

“Thank you, Harry. Really. That’s a conversation for another day, I think. I’m getting a bit cold.” Some lightness is back in Louis’ voice as well as his stance and Harry likes that quite a lot. Because when Louis’ heavy and talking about meaninglessness, he’s not happy and that’s not acceptable in Harry’s eyes.

“You ready to go in?” Harry asks, removing his arms from around Louis. He wonders if Louis already wants them back.

“Lead the way,” Louis says, turning around and smiling up at Harry. “Let’s go scare the shit out of Liam.”

\---

They’re an hour into the movie and Louis is already onto Harry.

He hasn’t said anything, hasn’t made any comments about how often Harry jumps or the muffled noises that could easily have been screams if he wasn’t making a conscious effort to hold them in. But, if the snickers that are coming from the boy beside him are anything to go by and if Louis is looking at him as much as Harry feels like he is, then Louis definitely knows.

Luckily, he’s keeping his wits about him for the most part. Also, Liam fell apart about twenty minutes in and is currently huddled underneath the blankets, a single eye peeking out as he attempts to watch it. Liam’s weakness is definitely making Harry look a lot stronger than he actually is.

Niall, for his part, is _fucking laughing_ , the bastard. Whether it’s at Liam or at the movie is unclear but he’s laughing all the same. And Louis, of course, is unaffected. Since this is apparently one of his favorites. And, honestly, _why_? Harry supposes it’s a good film but it’s terrifying and Harry is definitely going to have trouble sleeping for the next week. At least.

And he’s already planning on texting and calling Louis throughout these inevitable sleepless nights. Because if Harry’s awake because of a movie that Louis made him watch, Louis’ going to be awake too.

But that little fact will remain a secret for now.

There’s a particularly jarring scene involving the mother as she’s lying on her bed and Harry’s attempts at silencing those screams are all for naught. Because his body reacts before his mind can and he’s thrown the blanket him and Louis had been sharing over his head and is letting out a rather embarrassing sounding scream and has shoved his body completely against Louis.

He can hear Liam letting out heavy breaths, probably trying to steady his heart, and can also both hear and feel Louis’ laughter.

“Shut up,” Harry says, voice wavering, from the safety of his blanket.

“I said nothing,” Louis says, suddenly a lot closer than Harry remembers. And… oh. He suddenly feels an arm wrap around him, hooking around the general area where his blanket-clad shoulders reside.

Maybe Harry should have shown his fear a long time ago since it got Louis’ arm around him.

Harry lets out a shaky breath and allows his tense body to sink further into Louis.

It takes a few minutes, but Harry eventually peeks his head out of the blanket to attempt to watch the movie again. He doesn’t even hesitate before letting his head rest against Louis’ shoulder. And, in response, Louis’ arm gets tighter, tighter, tighter around Harry.

\---

Somehow they make it through the movie. There is a lot more screaming (Liam and Harry) and a lot more laughing (Louis and Niall) but they make it. They make it with a few beers in each of them and Harry thinks that’s the only reason he made it until the end. That and the fact that he was able to cuddle up into Louis’ side for the rest of it. That’s definitely always a plus.

The credits barely start rolling when Liam throws his blanket off as well as Niall’s legs which have found their way across Liam’s lap and grabs the remote off the coffee table, immediately hitting pause.

“I’m picking the next one. And never again are we watching a horror movie,” he says sternly. Well, as sternly as Liam can get. Which isn’t very much because the other three are reduced to barely contained snorts and snickers.

“Okay, Liam,” Harry placates. “Go ahead.”

It takes a bit but Liam eventually settles on, not a movie but, rather, the first episode of his favorite show _Psych_.

“You ever seen this?” Harry asks to both Louis and Niall.

“A few episodes but definitely haven’t seen the pilot,” Louis replies.

“I don’t think I’ve seen it even once. Heard a bit about it though. Always meant to start watching it but never got around to it,” Niall says.

Liam gives a happy nod, presses play, and bounds back over to the couch. He settles down into the sofa crease he left behind, still warm.

“Should we crack open that wine?” Harry asks.

All three boys nod and voice their agreement and Harry gets up and heads for the kitchen.

It’s a precarious business carrying four glasses of wine but he manages to bring them all back into the living room on a cookie sheet.

“Your wine, sir,” he says grandly, carefully removing one of the glasses and handing it to Louis. He accepts it eagerly with a quiet “thanks”, barely taking his eyes off the screen. He’s already hooked, Harry can tell.

Harry had been the same way when he had first started watching _Psych_ which was, unfortunately, after the series had already ended. But it had taken him less than a month to watch the show from beginning to end. Travelling for work can be quite exciting but, what people didn’t realize, was that it required a lot of lonely nights in hotel rooms in foreign cities. Which is where his Netflix account always came in handy.

He gives the other two boys their glasses before grabbing the last remaining one on the tray and then placing the now empty thing onto the coffee table.

He settles back down into Louis’ side and Louis’ arm, seemingly unconsciously, slings across Harry’s shoulders once again. And alright. This is a thing now. This is a thing that Harry likes quite a lot. He wants this thing to always be a thing.

“I think you’re really gonna like this show,” Harry says, turning his face up a bit so he can look at Louis. “You remind me of Shawn quite a bit, actually.”

Louis nods his comprehension but doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. Harry smiles and turns his head forward again, taking a sip of his wine. Which is absolutely amazing, by the way. Just the right amount of sweet with just the right amount of burn.

Which, now that he thinks about it, could also be used to describe Louis.

\---

They are all very tipsy by the end of the first episode and both Louis and Niall are demanding they move right along to the next one.

“I wanna keep watching! Liam, press the thing!” Louis commands, gesturing vaguely with the hand that’s wrapped around Harry. The other is holding another beer, probably his third of the night. “‘M excited for this. I like it,” he slurs once Liam presses “the thing” aka the play button.

“Would you say you’re… psyched about it?” Harry ventures, voice equally as slow and slurred and beautiful sounding.

Louis snorts long and hard and unattractive and brings his beer-holding hand up to his face to try and mask it. But Harry hears it and can feel it in the vibrations that are sent through Louis’ body and lets out a cackle of his own in return.

“Pun boy strikes again!” he yells triumphantly, raising his beer in a mock-toast. Harry raises his own and clinks their bottles together right as the title sequence plays across the screen.

They make it through four more episodes that night.

\---

“You’re not driving home like this,” Liam says, the only remotely sober one in the group.

Niall’s asleep, having drank the most out of all of them. He’s sprawled out on his portion of the couch; one leg is kicked up to rest on the top of the back of the couch, one arm’s hanging limply over the side, mouth wide open and breaths heavy, and there’s no way anybody’s waking him up.

“‘M Irish. I can handle it,” he had said as he nursed his fourth beer. Spoiler alert: he could not, in fact, handle it.

“I agree. You’re staying the night,” Harry argues. He’s just concerned for Louis’ safety, of course. And Niall’s. Right. Yes. Definitely just concerned about safety and all that.

“I _am_ quite tired,” Louis slurs, his words all running together. Muddled, much as Harry’s brain feels right about now.

He doesn’t even know what time it is. Well past midnight. Probably creeping close to 2 or 3 if he had to guess.

“And you’re quite drunk as well,” Harry says, absentmindedly playing with Louis’ fingers that are hanging over his shoulder still. Louis’ arm must be numb by now, he thinks. He hasn’t moved it much in the past few hours. Not that Harry minds, exactly. More concerned than anything.

Harry maneuvers his way out of Louis’ hold and slowly stands up, swaying slightly on his feet. He blinks a few times to try and clear his eyesight and eventually is able to see relatively normally again. He turns around to find Louis looking petulant, bottom lip sticking out in a pout at the loss of contact.

“Liam, you can share a bed with me tonight and Louis can have the couch. Or, what’s left of it. Niall takes up quite a bit of room when he’s spread out, doesn’t he?” Harry says.

“Wanna share with you,” Louis mumbles from the couch. And he says it so quietly Harry almost doesn’t catch it.

“What’s that?” he asks, because there’s no way he heard that right.

“Sleep with you, Haz,” Louis says a bit louder. And, wow, okay. Nope. Harry’s not touching that. He knows Louis means it in the most innocent of ways but. Wow. Just wow.

“You… you wanna share a bed with me?” Harry clarifies. Because he cannot fuck this up and he wants to make sure he _understands_ . Wants to make sure _Louis_ understands in his drunken haze. “He really is wasted,” he says as an aside to Liam, making sure Louis doesn’t pick up on the comment.

Louis nods. Well, he attempts to nod. It’s more so a messy swaying of the head. “Mhm. Your bed. Harry’s bed. Can’t sleep on couches. Messes up my back.”

And oh, okay. There’s an actual reason why Louis is begging to climb into Harry’s bed. There’s no ulterior motive. Only a concern for his health. Makes sense. Harry is just going to pretend that doesn’t crush him a little bit.

“That’s fine with me if it’s okay with you, Li,” Harry says, turning to look at his friend with pleading eyes. Eyes that seem to say, “Please let me have this. Give me this. I need this, Liam, and you know it.”

Liam sighs and rolls his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “Fine. Can I borrow an actual pillow though?”

Harry points a thumb over his shoulder. “Sure. Top shelf in the hall closet. Extra blankets in there as well if you need them since the ones on the couch mostly came from my bed. Which I’ll be taking back with me, thank you very much.”

“With _us_ ,” Louis emphasizes. “Back to _our_ room. _Our_ bed, Haz.”

Harry bites back a beam of a smile. “Right. It’s _our_ bed for tonight, Lou.”

 _And it can be forever, if you want it to be_. That’s definitely the alcohol talking, calm down.

Louis stretches his arms up over his head, cracking his back and stretching out his limbs. He messes with his hair a bit before he stands up, yawning and nearly falling over at the sudden change of position. He would have gone careening into the coffee table if Harry hadn’t been there to catch him.

“Come on, you. Let’s get you to bed,” Harry says, putting an arm around Louis’ waist. _To steady him_ . Because, you know, Louis could _fall_ and _hurt himself_ because he’s _drunk_ and Harry’s a _good friend_.

“Bed! Harry’s bed! Louis’ bed! OUR BED!” He’s shouting now and Harry can’t help but laugh.

As they start to walk away, Harry looks behind him at Liam and mouths a silent “thanks”. Liam returns the sentiment with a wink.

They eventually make it to Harry’s room; which is a difficult task because Louis can’t exactly pick up his feet to walk properly. Harry did most of the work on the way there but he doesn’t exactly mind the fact that he had to grip onto Louis’ waist. It’s a nice waist, really. Perfectly plump hips with a clearly toned stomach. Harry wonders what it looks like uncovered.

His daydream plays out in front of him once they reach the bedroom, which is something Harry certainly was not expecting. He lets Louis go to set about getting the bed ready for two bodies instead of one when he hears the unmistakable light thump of a piece of clothing hitting the floor. Harry pauses his setup to turn back around, finding a shirtless Louis standing in the middle of his room. A shirtless Louis who’s already setting about taking his trousers off as well.

“Uh… Lou?” Harry ventures.

Louis pauses his unzipping and looks at Harry. “‘S hot.”

Harry swallows in a way that’s almost certainly audible. “Do… d’you want me to turn the air con up?”

Louis shakes his head and resumes his disrobing. “‘M hot on the inside.”

Harry blinks rapidly a few times and turns back around quickly. Finish setting up the bed, right. That’s his priority.

He’s done too soon, though, and has no choice but to turn back around and face a nearly naked Louis.

And, God, was Harry right about the way he would look without a shirt on.

He’s got these pudgy hips and a little bit of a plump to his lower stomach. Yet he’s still toned, is the thing. Even in the low light of the bedside lamp, Harry can make out the perfectly formed muscles littering his upper half. He’s even got a few tattoos, Harry notices. Some type of script dancing along his ribs, a chest piece, a few littering his upper arms. They seem random, even though Harry can’t quite make out what they are in the low-light and because of the distance. He wants to know them more intimately though. Wants to know Louis in every way that counts.

Tattoo talk is for another day though. A _sober_ day.

He refuses to let his eyes linger too long, even though he’s probably already pushing the boundaries of what’s “acceptable” and looks up into Louis’ eyes, to talk to him like a normal human.

“You have a side of the bed you prefer?” Harry asks.

Louis shakes his head. “Nope.” He pops the P. He sashays over to Harry and pokes him in the stomach before climbing into the right side of the bed.

Well, guess that answers that question.

“I’m uh… I’m gonna go change. I’ll be right back,” Harry says.

“M’kay,” Louis replies. He’s already close to sleep, Harry can tell.

He grabs his pajamas from his bottom drawer and scurries off to the bathroom. He uses the little bit of alone time he has to collect himself. To realize what exactly is happening and to learn how to be okay with it in a short amount of time. There’s a lot happening in the room that’s usually filled with just him. And he’s… okay with it. Somehow, he’s okay with it.

Because Louis isn’t typical. He isn’t typical for who Harry usually clings to and he isn’t typical in the general sense of the word. Harry’s found himself so drawn to him, so magnetized by him, that he’s letting this man sleep in his bed. _With him_ . Things like this, things like _Louis_ , have never happened to Harry before. Louis is already a presence, a solid part of Harry’s life after only two weeks. He already has him in his _bed_ , for Christ’s sake.

But, the thing is, there’s no sex-fueled desire there. He wouldn’t want to sleep with Louis, not yet at least, even if he was sober. Because what he’s got with the man waiting for him in his bed is something beyond the scope of Harry’s imagination. Louis has come crashing in and is scaring Harry in the best possible ways.

It’s beautiful, is what it is.

Harry wants to take this day by day. Wants to see how it plays out, what things come next in a natural progression.

But, for now, he has a bed to get back to. He has a _beautiful man_ to get back to.

Harry throws his clothes into the bathroom hamper and makes his way back to the bedroom. He tiptoes inside, creeping around just in case Louis’ already asleep.

When Harry walks over to turn off the bedside lamp, he chances a glance at Louis to find he’s still awake. He’s squinting up at Harry and smiling this close-lipped smile that’s making these little crinkles form around his eyes and _wow_.

He returns the smile and turns off the lamp, plunging them into darkness. Harry realizes then that he’s left his phone out in the living room but he’s not about to go out there and get it when Louis Tomlinson is waiting for him in bed.

Harry climbs in beside the man and settles in, fluffing his pillow in a way that cradles his head in just the right way.

Louis immediately turns around once Harry’s settled in, looking at him. Harry can just make out where his eyes are, the city lights from outside barely creeping through the blinds and into this private moment. As if they, too, want to see how this story is going to play out.

Harry reaches out a hand and brushes it through Louis’ hair, tucking it behind his ear. Louis lets out a content hum and closes his eyes.

“Goodnight, Haz,” he whispers.

“Goodnight, Lou. Sleep well.”

Harry stays awake for awhile, listening to Louis’ quiet breaths become deeper, deeper, deeper until they turn into quiet snuffles.

Harry falls asleep thinking about magnets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments keep me writing. So help motivate me by leaving your thoughts down below- good, bad, or otherwise. I reply to every single comment so let's chat! Weekly updates are looking like a real and attainable possibility right now but, again, I make no promises. 
> 
> Also, I'm curious as to what you guys' theories are about Louis. Why does he get close and then back away? Is he scared? And, if he is, what's he scared of? What do you think his reasons behind not settling down are? Would love to read some of your theories and guesses. :)
> 
> Follow me on Twitter (@cherishedlarry) and on Tumblr (realizedyouweremissing). Come talk to me about Louis and Harry.


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter dedicated to Blinding_Lights, who continues to leave the sweetest comments that make me want to keep writing. Magnets, magnets, magnets. I love you so much. I hope you all enjoy this chapter (but especially you, Blinding_Lights). We got some more movement in this chapter.
> 
> I'm sorry this took me so long to post. Hopefully it was worth the wait.
> 
> (I've also only done a quick proofread/edit of this so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes.)

There is an arm laying on Harry’s face when he wakes up.

He comes to slowly, eyes stuck and thoughts muddled, tiny traces of alcohol still bogging him down. He didn’t drink a lot but he drank enough to guarantee him a rough morning, that’s for sure. He realizes his mouth is open and he closes it quickly (sleeping with it wide open again, of course he was), smacking his lips to try and get some moisture back into it.

He finally manages to part his eyelids only to find there is something obstructing his eyesight. It’s warm, quite bony, and it’s resting along his left cheek, the bridge of his nose, and is currently blocking his view.

It’s the remaining bits of alcohol that cause the initial confusion. But then he’s smacked with the events of last night. Louis. Louis is here. Louis slept in his bed. Louis is still in his bed. Louis’ arm is on his face.

He carefully, carefully wraps his hand around the offending limb and moves it away from his face and down onto his chest. Because he can’t bear the thought of breaking the touch completely. He just would like the use of his head back, thank you very much. Louis’ hand lays gently on his chest with his fingers splayed but, suddenly, they curve. Louis’ fingers clutch at Harry’s shirt, scrunching up and bunching the material in the spaces between his digits. Louis inhales then, a loud sound in the otherwise silent room, Harry’s shirt continuing to bunch. He lets out the breath, a quieter sound, and allows his fingers to relax. His breathing settles back into a steady rhythm and he resumes the snuffling pattern that had previously lulled Harry into a deep sleep.

He feels himself being pulled towards sleep again but the pull to look at slumbering Louis is much more powerful. Harry’s already laying on his back so all he has to do is turn his head to find the object of his desire.

And then he sees him. And okay, he definitely wasn’t expecting to be this endeared by what he sees. Louis is on his side, facing Harry. His head is tilted upwards on the pillow, lips parted just a bit, cheeks flushed from sleep and leftover alcohol. Louis did drink quite a bit, Harry remembers. He’s got one hand that’s outstretched to rest on Harry’s chest and the other curled into a loose fist against his own neck. His hair is a right mess, bits falling in front of his eyes and the rest of it splayed in random bursts against the pillow. Harry thinks he looks like a firework. He’s making these quiet snuffles on every inhale and exhale and it’s making Harry feel more endeared than he probably should. He is also suddenly aware that one of Louis’ feet is pressed against his calf and Harry unconsciously moves his leg to be closer to it.

He wants to stay there forever, really. Wants to watch Louis (in the non-creepiest way possible) but he is met with the sudden urge to pee. He curses the long night in bed and the alcohol for making him leave.

Slowly- so, so slowly he’s barely moving at all- Harry takes the hand Louis is resting on him and places it gingerly onto the bed, hoping the warmth left over from his body will be enough to keep Louis asleep. He makes his way out of bed and holds his breath the entire way as he goes.

_Please don’t wake up. Please, please, please._

And Louis doesn’t.

Harry stands at the foot of the bed and chances a glance at Louis who is still snoring away, unaware of Harry’s absence. Unaware of his own appeal that Harry is trying so hard to fight against.

Harry slips out then, as much as he finds himself not wanting to part from the gorgeous and endearing sight before him, and scurries to the bathroom on gentle feet.

As he’s setting about relieving himself, he can hear a muffled conversation drifting from the direction of the kitchen. Right. Niall and Liam. They’re here too. Now that Harry’s extracted himself from the Louis bubble he had, just moments ago, found himself trapped in, he remembers last night. He remembers Niall passing out on the couch, “forcing” him and Louis to spend the night.

That’s the reason Louis’ here. That’s the reason he slept in Harry’s bed. That and nothing else. No ulterior motives. At least, that’s what Harry’s convinced himself of because Harry really doesn’t want to think about any other possibilities, see. He can’t, really. Especially when Louis himself is laying in Harry’s bed at this very moment. And also especially when he’s about to head into the kitchen where two boys who undoubtedly will have questions about the events of last night and Harry’s feelings surrounding it all are currently residing.

He has to be collected and sure. _Poker face, Harry._

Liam and Niall’s conversation (something about golf or some other insignificant sport Harry couldn’t care less about) abruptly comes to an end when Harry walks in, weary and rubbing his tired eyes.

“Hi?” Harry ventures, unsure of what’s supposed to happen next. Should _he_ bring it up? Or will that raise more questions and make them even more suspicious of his and Louis’ situation? And even though nothing happened last night, he still feels like he has to and is _about_ to have to defend his actions. Which were, what? Going to sleep?  And, really, even if something did happen, it isn’t exactly their business anyway. But he knows they don’t know any better. So he decides to wait for them to bring it up.

Which they do. Of fucking course.

“Hiii,” Liam drawls. “How was your night?” A smirk plays on his lips as he sets about making a pot of tea, an action that seems unnaturally casual to no one besides Harry.

Harry’s _always_ the tea maker in this household. He’s not sure what the fuck Liam is doing.

Harry makes his way over to the breakfast bar and takes a seat on the stool next to Niall.

“It was… fine.” _Collected, Harry. Be collected._ “Yeah, it was fine. We were both pretty tired. Louis passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow. Not much to report, sorry.” He gives a reassuring, tiny smile to try and placate them.

“He still asleep?” Liam asks, leaning on folded arms from his standing position on the other side of the bar.

Harry nods, yawning. “Yeah. Seems like he will be for a while, too,” he says before looking to the stovetop clock- 11:21. Damn. He can’t even remember the last time he slept so late. Niall voices his agreement from beside him in the form of a hum.

“You guys eat yet?” Harry asks in typical fashion.

“We’ve been waiting for you. We’re both useless in the kitchen, come to find out,” Niall says, sounding a bit too proud about that statement.

“Oh, I see how it is. Not only am I supposed to house all of you, let you get drunk _and_ sleep in the house _I_ pay for, but I am also supposed to supply you with food _and_ cook it?” Harry says, sounding put out, even as he’s already standing up to set about making some of his famously delicious French toast.

“Smell will probably wake Louis up, if it’s any consolation,” Niall says, which causes Harry to freeze. It’s only for a second though and he doubts either of them noticed. He doesn’t want to get into though, he really doesn’t, so he chooses to ignore the comment altogether. He’s not going to dignify Niall’s statement with any kind of response.

So he sets about his business cooking as Liam and Niall continue their conversation from earlier- golf; Harry had been right.

He’s just finished piling up the first batch of French toast onto the plate when he hears the unmistakable sound of fingernails scratching at stubble. And there’s only one person in this household who could possibly make that sound. He looks behind his shoulder and sees the offending party standing ridiculously close to him. As well as the boxers he had slept in, he’s also managed to find and throw on one of Harry’s rattiest hoodies. For such a bulky piece of fabric, it’s draped astonishingly delicately over Louis’ tiny frame. He’s swimming in it, really, and it’s just _a lot_ for Harry to try and process right now. He isn’t quite sure how to classify and stick a name on whatever emotion inflates his heart and fills his bloodstream in that moment. But he thinks it’s a positive one. At least, it has the potential to be so long as Harry doesn’t dismiss it entirely. He’ll stow it away for now though, temporarily. Because he’s certainly not about to deal with this right now. Especially in front of Liam and Niall.

“Morning, shitheads,” Louis says, giving Harry a long look before moving away and heading over to sit at the breakfast bar. He ruffles his hair a few times before plopping down next to Niall and burying his head into his arms that he folds on top of the bar.

Harry breaks out of his stupor at the curse and grabs the plate, bringing it over so the boys can dig in. He takes one look at Louis though and knows he’ll need a bit of extra help this morning.

“Niall, can you grab the plates, please? Cabinet to the right of the stove,” Harry says.

“Butter and syrup in the fridge?” Liam asks to which Harry nods.

“Silverware too, if you don’t mind. Top drawer, left of the stove. I’ll be right back,” Harry says before scurrying off to the bathroom.

He comes back to the kitchen to find Louis in the same position as before while Liam and Niall have already made considerable dents in their breakfast. Harry sets about making Louis’ tea, the way he remembers him liking it from their first day together- just a spot of milk. He walks over then and sits across from Louis, placing the cup and the two paracetamol tablets onto the surface in front of the hungover man.

“Here, Lou,” Harry says quietly, causing Louis to pick up his head and squint at Harry with bleary eyes. It takes him a bit to notice the items in front of him but he perks up a bit once he does.

“Bless you,” he says, popping the tablets into his mouth and chasing them with a gulp of tea. Louis smiles with closed eyes.

“Tea okay?” Harry asks, hoping he hadn’t put too much milk in or remembered Louis’ preferences incorrectly.

“You remembered,” Louis says, opening his eyes slightly. And although just slits, Harry can see the appreciation and fondness coming through.

“Splash of milk,” Harry responds unnecessarily. “Not that hard to remember,” Harry tries to brush off. As if he won’t continue to memorize every possible thing about Louis that he can.

“You’d be surprised. Niall still struggles with it,” Louis says, elbowing Niall a bit, jostling the arm holding a forkful of French toast.

“So I sometimes put in too much milk. Sue me,” he responds with a mouthful.

“A splash is a very specific measurement, Niall. I don’t know how you could possibly fuck it up as often as you do. Harry’s gotten it right both times. Learn something from this,” Louis says.

They continue bantering, Louis slowly coming back to life with the medicine and tea now in his system. He doesn’t eat, saying his stomach is too “sloshy” and Harry’s “French toast deserves better treatment” than Louis’ stomach could possibly supply right now. Considerate, really.

And all of this, this morning, cooking and waking up beside Louis and bantering in the kitchen is all so _domestic_ , Harry thinks fondly. It’s wonderful. Beautiful. Everything he’s wanted in a life. There’s something about this group, about the four of them sitting together and interacting as easily as they are. Harry thinks maybe he likes it so much because of how poetic it is- two worlds coming together in the most unexpected of ways.

And Louis is just radiant in the mornings, even with the hangover. Really lighting up the kitchen with his smile and his laugh and his everything. He’s the reason they’re all together right now, Harry realizes.

He wonders if Louis’ grasped that as well.

\---

The rest of the morning and afternoon is as easy as it began.

Harry has to go into work for a few hours come 3:00 but he encourages the group to stay for the time that he’s away.

They agree- or, at least he thought they did.

But when he returns, there’s only one person remaining in his apartment and, of course, it’s the one person Harry really doesn’t know how to deal with right now.

They haven’t talked about last night as it certainly wasn’t a conversation meant to be had in front of other people- Niall and Liam especially. So how this forced individual interaction is about to go is unclear to Harry at the moment.

Well, as they say- only one way to find out.

He loosens his tie as he makes his way into the living room where Louis is watching some baking program.

“Didn’t peg you as a baker type,” Harry says.

Louis jumps a little, clearly not having heard him come in. He turns his head and beams at Harry. “Oh, trust me, I’m not. ‘S why I like to watch these kinds of shows. Live vicariously through talented people. It’s what I do best.”

Harry gives a nod, one that says, “fair enough”, and plops down beside Louis, letting out a deep sigh.

“How was work?” Louis asks. And Harry doesn’t think he imagines the way Louis seems to lean a bit closer to him. He couldn’t imagine that kind of heat. Body heat, that is.

“It was… fine. I guess. Stressful. Just have a lot to do in a short amount of time. But I suppose I’m used to it. I shouldn’t complain.”

“No. You can complain about work. Absolutely. I do it all the time.” Louis pauses for a second. “Is there anything I can do to help? I mean, I doubt it since you’re all Mr. Proper Businessman and I’m Mr. Flighty Flight Attendant. But I figured I’d ask.”

Harry lets out a breathy laugh- stunned and endeared. Which are pretty much his constant states of being whenever he’s around Louis.

“Trying to get on your good side,” Louis continues over Harry’s laughs.

“You’re already there,” Harry says without a second thought. Alright. Guess that’s out there then. Louis can deal with it however he sees fit.

“Well thanks, Haz, but seriously is there anything I can do?” Louis turns more towards him then. His eyes are so soft that Harry finds himself letting out another sigh, smile dropping a bit.

“Nah. I mean, not really. I just… I don’t know. I just need to distract myself right now. I really don’t even want to think about work. And I especially don’t want to make these phone calls. We have this big event coming up, a stupid tasteless dinner of some kind, and so much of the nitty-gritty stuff is being left up to me. I just can’t deal with it right now.”

Louis abruptly stands up then, causing Harry to jump in fright this time.

“Go change. I’m taking you out,” Louis says, no-nonsense.

“Out?” Harry asks dumbly, looking up at him from his frozen position on the couch with wide, unblinking eyes.

“Yes, Harry, out as in outside as in out of this apartment as in not work as in a _date_ as in you better go change because I’m not about to take you out looking like some stuffy businessman.” It all comes in a long-winded and breathless statement and Harry just stares at Louis, dumbfound and pleased with this turn of events.

Harry’s frozen. “A-a date?” he stammers.

“Well, I did sleep in your bed last night. It’s only fair that I take you out after we’ve slept together,” Louis says as if it’s the most obvious chain of events to have ever occurred.

“Isn’t that kind of, I don’t know, backwards?” Harry questions.

“We aren’t ordinary, Harry.” And there’s something in the way Louis says it, the drawl of his voice and the deeper tone that has Harry’s stomach flip-flopping.

This is the first they’ve really talked about the events of last night and what it might lead to and it’s definitely not as uncomfortable as Harry had been expecting.

“Fair enough,” Harry manages before standing up. “I’ll uh… I guess I’ll go change, then.”

He takes his time changing out of his suit and into something more casual yet still classy. His black jeans are tight and his cream sheer shirt is unbuttoned tastefully. It’s a good combination, Harry thinks. And he knows Louis will certainly appreciate it.

He’s trying his best to collect himself but this is just… this is huge. This is what Harry’s been waiting for for a while now. Okay, so it hasn’t even been two weeks but it still feels like a long time coming. Louis is taking him out on a _date_. And there are no questions if this is actually a date because Louis himself is the one that used the term in the first place. He’s not sure what it means or where it’s going to lead and he’s trying his best not to think too much about it. But it’s hard because Louis is waiting for him right downstairs. Louis- the one Harry has been infatuated with since they first met in the airport. Louis- the one he cried to Liam about just a few days ago. Louis- the one who slept in his bed last night. Louis- the one he wants to keep waking up beside every morning for as long as Louis will allow it.

He makes his way downstairs and back into the living room. The television is off and Louis is tapping away on his phone, still standing in the same position that Harry had left him in just a few minutes previous.

“Alright. Take me out,” Harry demands, pulling Louis out of his concentration.

Louis’ eyes move slowly as they take in Harry, trailing up his legs, taking their time when they reach his shirt, and finally lingering on Harry’s own. Guess he was right about Louis liking his choice of outfit for the evening.

Louis breaks out of his stupor with a quiet clear of the throat. “We’ll have to take your car. I rode here with Niall. Kinda stuck.”

“What kind of a date is this? You’re the one who asked me out, you know,” Harry balks in mock affront.

“I’m still paying, alright? Settle down. I can even drive if you don’t mind me piloting your ride,” Louis says as they start to walk towards the front door.

“Another aviation joke. And a tasteful one at that. Admirable,” Harry says, opening the door after grabbing his keys from the bowl next to it.

“Thank you. Pride myself on them, really. Glad you still appreciate them.”

“Oh, always.”

Harry hands him the keys then, a gesture to which Louis responds with a quirk of the eyebrow and a mischievous smile.

“You sure?” Louis asks.

Harry steps closer to him then, so close he has to look down even more than usual to see the smaller man. He leans in, a sudden bout of bravery hitting. “Can’t very well drive if I don’t know where we’re going. You’re taking me out and you’re going to surprise me.” His voice is a whispery growl which causes Louis to shudder, bones knocking around in their frame.

Louis’ been too confident, see. Too comfortable. Harry has to knock that down a little bit. Put them on the same playing field, the same level. And if that means Harry has to fake his own confidence to bring Louis’ down, so be it. Not that he doesn’t like the superior way Louis carries himself. He just wants it to be a bit fairer on their first official date.

This whole thing is such a bizarre situation they’ve managed to find themselves in. Backwards, as Harry had pointed out earlier. But this is their reality. This is what they were dealt and this is what they have to learn how to navigate. It’s a tad uncomfortable, of course, but in the very best way.

Louis doesn’t say anything and Harry revels in his stunned silence.

Quiet Louis, unsure Louis, is a Louis Harry hasn’t seen up to this point. He likes it though, he realizes. Likes making Louis squirm. However, even more than that, he likes bubbly Louis, vivacious Louis. So he knows this act of his isn’t about to last long. He’s going to want the old Louis back sooner rather than later. So it, this tension, is going to be broken pretty soon and Harry knows without a shadow of a doubt that he’s going to be the one who breaks it.

They remain quiet until they get to the car. Louis’ still nervous, Harry can tell, if the way that he fumbles with the keys is anything to go by. (It takes him twice as long as it should to even unlock the car).

Alright. Enough is enough. Harry can’t be expected to keep this up. Nor does he want to.

“Thanks for doing this. You definitely didn’t have to,” Harry says, slipping easily back into his casual persona.

Louis lets out a breath in a way that seems to indicate he’s been holding it in for a while. “Of course I did. Least I could do.” He pauses. “Not that, you know, I didn’t _want_ to take you out. Because I did. Trust me. Been wanting to for a while, actually. This just… gave me an excuse, I suppose,” Louis says, comfort and confidence beginning to seep back into his posture and tone.

Louis taps around a bit on his phone before the robotic voice of the GPS fills the car.

“Now,” Louis says. “How do you feel about Italian?”

\---

The restaurant Louis takes him to is unassuming yet quaint and absolutely gorgeous.

“Nice aesthetic,” Harry comments as soon as they sit down, looking around at the art on the walls and the gorgeous light fixtures hanging up above. (Harry has always been a slut for a good lighting fixture). The color scheme is muted and warm- wine red and beige. There is quiet piano music tinkling around and above them, just loud enough to be heard over the din of conversation. The restaurant is fairly empty, a few couples scattered around here and there.

It’s perfect.

“Okay, Mister Tumblr, dropping the word aesthetic in everyday conversation,” Louis says, grinning and looking at Harry from under his fringe. He looks down quickly though, eyes scanning the menu in front of him. “What kind of wine do you like?” he continues.

Harry blinks then shrugs, smiling. “’M not picky. Whatever you want, really. Nothing too dry though.”

Louis ends up ordering a bottle of Pinot Grigio which Harry thoroughly enjoys.

They sit and sip in silence for a while, perusing their menus. But, once they place their orders, there isn’t anything to distract. It’s just them and the unspoken words hanging precariously above them.

Harry’s the one to break the silence, forcing himself to once he notices Louis has already downed two thirds of his wine in the span of about five minutes. “You’ve been wanting this for a while, huh?”

Louis’ head snaps up when he hears Harry speak, smiling the tiniest bit. “Yeah,” he says on a breath. “Pretty much since the beginning, really.” He pauses. “What can I say? You’re a fascinating one, Harry Styles. You and your puns.” Louis is made of light, the golden hue casting out from the fixtures above hitting his blue eyes in a swirl of color.

Harry lets out a quiet, breathy laugh. “I’ve been wanting this too. Guess I was too… intimidated to ask? Well, no. Intimidated isn’t the right word. More like… apprehensive. Nervous, really.” He grins at Louis’ growing smile. “You’re quite fascinating yourself. Didn’t want to risk losing access to that.”

“Harry,” Louis says, chastising. “Must I remind you what happened after we knew each other for only a few hours?”

Harry smiles and shakes his head.

“How could you possibly think I was anything but interested?” Louis finishes, tone so soft.

“I don’t know.” Harry shrugs. “Some people are like that. Some people will do that without any ulterior motives.”

Louis’ eyes narrow. “I definitely didn’t have any ulterior motives, Harold. Definitely wasn’t trying to get in your pants or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

And Louis actually sounds completely serious. No undertones of sarcasm present in the slightest. And Harry’s surprised, actually. He’s never met anyone like Louis before. Nobody has even come close to the kind of person he’s shown himself to be. Harry’s not clear on what he’s about, what he’s looking for or trying to accomplish here.

“Just wanted to wine and dine me, eh?” Harry asks, picking up his glass and extending it across the table.

Louis picks up his own then, the quiet clink they make when they gently collide sounding louder in the stillness of the surrounding restaurant. “Exactly. To wining and dining. And not trying to get in your pants.”

Harry’s eyes narrow then and a gentle smirk grows as he takes a sip of wine, his gaze on Louis’ confident expression; unwavering. “Too tight, anyway,” he says once he’s placed his rapidly emptying glass back onto the table.

“What’s that?” Louis asks, smacking his lips after taking his sip. More like giant gulp, really, but it’s not Harry’s place to judge.

“My pants. Too tight to get in to. Don’t think you’d fit in them tonight.”

Louis chuckles, shaking his head. “Not tonight.” His expression sobers then, eyes looking a bit… hungry, for lack of a better word. “Maybe you’ll just have to wear something looser in the future.”

Harry nearly chokes on his own tongue, luckily collecting himself just in time, because that was… unexpected? Shocking? Wonderful? Louis hasn’t really made any sexually-charged statements up until now. He’s never really seemed like the type. And, again, he doesn’t seem to be joking. His eyes aren’t lit up with humor but, instead, darkened with seriousness and something resembling lust.

Harry is spared from having to think of a coherent response when the waiter comes over with warm bread and butter. And, once he leaves, the moment is gone, walking away with him.

But Harry won’t be forgetting it.

\---

The food is delicious and conversation comes easy.

Harry finds himself straying further and further from his seemingly permanent work mindset, something he finds himself owing completely to Louis alone. But, unavoidably, the conversation towards the end of the night does stray back to work via a question from the distraction himself.

“So you have a work event coming up?” Louis is leaning back in his chair, relaxed and full, tummy extending just the tiniest bit- the picture of absolute contentment.

Harry sighs, leaning back a bit in his own seat. “Yeah. Some bullshit, superficial thing. A bunch of us, different companies in the area, get together and drink and eat and talk about how well we’re doing and seeing who can one-up the other,” Harry explains. “Supposedly it’s good for business. Helps us build relationships with other companies. But, I don’t know. To me, it all just seems so fake. I barely like the people I work with, let alone the people from the other companies. Plus, I’m so much younger than everyone else. So they all like to point that out every chance they get. As if I wasn’t already aware.”

“All sounds pretty shallow,” Louis responds to which Harry snorts.

“Oh, you have no idea,” he says, tracing his right ring finger around the rim of his long since empty wine glass. “And the best part is all these uppity business men and women bring their husbands and wives… and then there’s me. Perpetually single and the odd man out.”

“Does that bother you?” Louis asks sans judgement, just genuinely curious about Harry’s mindset.

“Yeah, a bit. I mean, most days I don’t mind being single but these kinds of things just call attention to it. It makes it seem… I don’t know.”

“Louder?” Louis finishes.

Harry nods. “Yes, exactly.”

Louis leans forward then, almost conspiratorially. “When is this event?”

Harry takes a moment to remember. “Three weeks. Saturday the 28th, I believe?”

Louis looks down. He’s not saying anything but Harry can tell he wants to.

“What is it?” he pushes, wanting Louis to speak up.

He takes a deep breath, looking at Harry on the tail end of his exhale. “I mean… I don’t know if it would be weird or… if you’re not interested, that’s fine… but… I-I’m around. I could, you know, go with you. Be your boyfriend for the night… and all that. If-if you want. You can say no, of course.” Louis sounds so unsure, a shakiness to his voice and hands.

Harry blinks slowly a few times, unable to stop staring. “You… you’d do that?” he asks quietly, just as unsure as Louis.

Louis’ eyes gain a little bit of sparkle back at Harry’s question- hopeful. “Of course I would. I’m always up for playing a bit of pretend. Especially in front of stuffy business people,” Louis says, humor slowly creeping its way back into the conversation.

“Heyyyy,” Harry drawls. “You know, _I’m_ a stuffy business person too. Watch what you say.”

Louis scrunches his nose and purses his lips. “Mmm,” he hums. “I wouldn’t exactly put you in that category.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair, attempting to move it off his face at least a little bit. He really needs a haircut.

“But seriously, I am willing to do it. It could even be kind of fun. I don’t really get dressed up very often. Not really in my job description,” he says.

Harry nods his head slowly. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll be sure to send you all the details once I know more.”

Louis smiles, face scrunching up in a way that seems to indicate he’s trying to keep it under control. Though why, Harry has no idea.

\---

Louis pays, as promised, and the two make their way back to Harry’s car with leftovers in hand. Louis rushes ahead of Harry, surprising the latter with his sudden movement. When Harry catches up, Louis swings the passenger door open and sweeps an arm out in a grand fashion, inviting Harry in.

“Sorry. Should’ve done this earlier. Terrible date, aren’t I? ‘S been a while.”

Harry beams, hopping giddily into his seat, leftovers being placed on the floor in front of him. Louis shuts the door then and walks over to his side.

“About to be an even worse date since you’re driving yourself home. In my car, no less. Won’t even be able to walk me to my door like a proper gentleman. And no kiss goodnight.” Harry isn’t sure where the last statement comes from and he finds himself immediately wanting to take it back.

Louis pauses for only a second, barely noticeable, before returning to his action of putting the keys into the ignition. He backs the car out of the parking space and puts it in drive before he responds. “Pity, innit?”

And he’s not joking.

\---

It’s awkward once they reach Louis’ place, the protocol unclear. Is Harry supposed to walk him to the door? No. Louis would certainly hate that. Do they shake hands? Hug? Kiss? What is _supposed to happen_?

They both get out of the car, Harry walking to Louis’ side to take over driver duty. He smiles at Louis who fumbles to get his things together. And then begins an awkward stare off of sorts.

“So…” Louis ventures.

“So…” Harry responds. “Thanks for dinner.”

The smaller one grins. “Thanks for sleeping with me.” He’s beaming, really. Cheeky.

“Any time,” Harry says.

Louis tilts his head at that. “I might have to take you up on that.”

Harry dimples.

“Will you text me when you get home? You _did_ drink a lot of wine,” Louis says.

“Hey, you had way more than me,” Harry retorts. “But, yes, I will.” Harry’s heart flutters a bit then.

“Alright…” A heavy pause.  “I’ll uh… see you later, then. I fly out on Thursday but I’d love to see you sometime before I go. If you’re not too busy with work or anything. But, yeah, thanks for tonight.”

Louis leans in, taking a step forward. He wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, the perfect height to do so at. Harry finds his arms snaking around Louis’ waist of their own accord, his body completely taking control while his mind is short-circuiting. It’s a bit awkward with Louis holding his leftovers in his hand but the feeling is still there, despite it all. Harry feels safe, he realizes. At home; content. Just from a hug with a person he’s only known for about two weeks.

He doesn’t want to let go and he can tell Louis doesn’t want to either as the hug goes on for a lot longer than could be considered ‘normal’ or ‘platonic’. Eventually though, they break apart and Harry knows his cheeks must mirror Louis’ flushed ones.

Louis whispers a quiet “bye” and then turns away with a flourish, leaving Harry to stand in stunned silence in his wake.

\---

Harry does text Louis when he gets home. As soon as he’s put the car in park, actually. Couldn’t even wait to step foot inside his flat. Is that a worrisome sign? Maybe.

_I’m hoooooooome. Only hit three cars on the way!!!!!! :)_

The response is immediate. He’s only just shut the car door when his phone vibrates in his hand, begging for attention much the same as Louis tends to do.

**_I’d call that a success !_ **

The next text comes through seconds later.

**_Glad you made it home though. And thanks for tonight. I had a lovely time with you, pun boy_ **

And then another. And it’s one that nearly causes Harry to drop his phone onto the pavement.

**_You still owe me a kiss ;)_ **

Harry’s hands tremble as he types back a reply.

_I won’t be forgetting._

He almost adds a “trust me” or “believe me” but decides to keep it as is. It gets the message across just fine.

When Harry walks into his apartment, he’s immediately struck by how empty it feels. Duller, he thinks. He already feels like Louis not being here, in his home, takes something out of his life, makes it less exciting. And maybe he should be alarmed by it but he’s just not. He likes it. Wants to hold on to that desire.

The lackluster is even more apparent when he climbs into bed later that night. It’s cold and missing a body. And all of this, Harry realizes with something that resembles fear, is after _one night_. One drunken night that resulted in nothing more than peaceful, innocent sleep. But Louis just brings this attractive and infectious quality with him and, even more apparently, he takes all of it with him when he goes.

He and Harry are magnets. The attraction is unavoidable and up to forces beyond their control. Harry knows this and it’s getting even more noticeable with every passing minute without Louis by his side.

He nearly texts Louis to tell him about the emptiness of his bed but restrains himself. Because, if Harry’s right about all of this, Louis is feeling the same emptiness in his own bed tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments keep me writing so be sure to leave your feedback below- good, bad, or otherwise. I respond to every single comment so don't be shy. Let's talk about some things!
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